Postcards From Sunnydale
by Lyzzybelle
Summary: Winchester Rule Number One: Trust No One; Winchester Protocol Number One: That Phone Rings, You Better Damn Well Pick It Up. During a brief stint at Sunnydale High, Sam becomes interested in the school library, the unusual books within and Slayer. He is not there long before he starts breaking his father's rules. Season 1 BtVS; Pre-Series SPN. Buffy is a Sophomore, Sam a Junior.
1. Prologue

**Synopsis**: Winchester Rule Number One: Trust No One; Winchester Rule Number Two: That Phone Rings, You Better Damn Well Pick It Up. During a brief stint at Sunnydale High, Sam becomes interested in the school library, the unusual books within and Slayer. He is not there long before he starts breaking his father's rules. Season 1 BtVS; Pre-Series SPN. Begins circa 1997 - Buffy is a Sophomore, Sam is a Junior.

**Dedication**: This first chapter is dedicated to the following readers, who found this story worthy enough to read and review (multiple times!) the first time around. I hope you come back for the new and improved version: the Last Hatake, PrincessKarlita411, SPN Mom, Serenityselena, Chaosrachel, boneskittie, Hometownhorrorstory, Nicaha23, Twilightfairy, Iilija64, JessAngelus, SeanHicks4, Demon2Angel, Spacehead3, Shadowmoonlight, Potterinu, LolaAnn, Headlesshuman, Suuki-Aldrea, Tipsyapple, Abigael Ryan, Gottaloveva, Lieutenant Winter, Steph230, Dreameralways and YukiAme (my 1st reviewer ever! Thank you!). It is also dedicated to those readers that favorite'd and set story alerts before I pulled it down for a re-write.

**Warning**: Forgive the blasphemy, but I like to think of canon as my own little one-stop-shop. If that bothers you, I hope you will still give the fic a chance.

**Rating**: "T". If, as you read, that you feel this fic needs to be changed to "M" let me know.

**Disclaimer**: Joss is Boss, Kripke is nifty and these characters are not mine.

**A/N**: I will try to update every Monday. Thank you to my betas, Tametiger and Bell. If you see any mistakes, they are most likely mine. I might have played before posting…

* * *

** Postcards From Sunnydale**

**Prologue**

_He had been keeping tabs on his boy for years and, although it was unlike him to be so sentimental, he checked on him far too often. He shouldn't have been surprised when the most promising of his candidates arrived in Sunnydale, as it was a hot-bed of mystical activity and the family was bound to come across it sooner or later._

_In the recent past, it had proved to be a favorite vacation spot for him and others like him. There were BIG plans for Sunnydale and, in a way, he was proud of his boy for staying in the town, however short the visit._

_He had heard that The Slayer lived in Sunnydale; others worried that it would hinder their plans, but he didn't – she was small potatoes, seemed unremarkable and not even worth thinking about. Plus, there was the added bonus- Slayers had notoriously short life spans and, according to the prophecy, she wouldn't live out the year when his old friend broke free from his mystical prison._

_He ignored the fact that she had stopped the Harvest and that it put them behind schedule._

_Beginners Slayer's Luck, that was all._

_He wasn't worried, but he would watch the boy a little more closely. He had to be careful though, he wasn't supposed to have favorites…_

* * *

The bitter words to his father still echoed in his head, but Sam refused to let go of his anger.

The leather seat of the family car crunched when Sam shifted, but he stubbornly refused to admit to his discomfort. If he did that, then Dean would smirk knowingly as if it somehow gave credence to his earlier claim that Sam was not tired, he just wanted to hide in the back seat and "pout like a Girl Scout who didn't make her cookie quota".

Sam shifted again and scowled when he realized he was lying with his arms crossed. He knew he had no reason to feel so defensive but, for once, he would like it if his brother backed him up instead of always siding with his father.

The leather creaked when he tried to find a more comfortable position for his legs and Sam longed for the days when he could stretch out his legs. Instead he compromised the best he could with his head propped on the window and body angled diagonally to give him an extra few inches of space. It wasn't ideal, but when his brother and father were determined to drive through the night like tonight, Sam made it work.

Their father drove a short distance ahead, in a the black pickup merely a shadow with glowing taillights before them while Dean drove his beloved "Baby" (yes, beloved, Dean loved the '67 Impala like Han Solo loved the Millennium Falcon - with a devotion that bordered on obsessive.) Their father had given the car to Dean on his sixteenth birthday and Dean cared for it with a precision that rivaled any NASCAR mechanic - oil changed every three thousand miles, tires rotated every five and, whenever possible, buffed the black coat to a glossy shine.

Between the three of them, their worldly personal possessions were few and fit easily into a couple of duffle bags, so Sam understood why Dean took such good care of the car. In a strange way, given his nomadic upbringing, the car was the only home Sam could remember. He knew, once upon a time, that they had lived in a house and were no different than any other American family until one horrific evening when their world fell apart. At six months old, the four door sedan became Sam's equivalent to four walls and a roof, when he grew too big for a car seat, the back seat doubled as both a play room and bedroom.

Sam missed the days when he could stretch from head to toe in the backseat and still not make contact with the car; these days it made no difference if Sam used the backseat or the front seat, comfort was elusive. Had the evening gone differently, he would be in the front, riding shotgun next to his brother as they fought for control over the music choice.

Music played softly, a small consolation on his brother's part.

Normally, Dean had the sound turned up and sang along ("Sing it loud and sing it proud, Sammy!"), a defense mechanism he used against the temptation to sleep while driving.

Tonight, the low music and lack of Dean's vocal contributions was Winchester Code for "I'm Sorry"; Sam withheld any complaints about the choice of music (not a single song was released later than 1987) – Winchester code for "apology accepted".

The car shifted lanes and slowed.

His body, long used to the rhythms of road travel, instantly made the transition from drowsy and annoyed to alert and annoyed. To Sam, the car's movements functioned as both a sleep machine and alarm clock.

Sam straightened until he had a clear view of the dash and checked the fuel gauge; an empty tank indicated an upcoming pit-stop to refuel and make use of the facilities while any level above a quarter of a tank indicated that they would find a motel or stop for food.

Half a tank, Sam observed.

Given the late hour, Sam went with motel, which meant a shower and, more importantly, bed.

The car coasted along the exit and Sam rolled down the window a little grateful for the cool, but not cold, air that rushed in through the window. He supposed there could be worse places to be in February.

The motel was located just inside the town limits. There was nothing notable that would distinguish it from any number of the other motels had stayed in throughout his life, same as the buildings and stores nearby. They pulled into the parking lot just as his father walked out of the motel office. The car idled as Dean rolled down his window and caught the keys their father tossed to them.

And so began their routine.

_Pull into the parking spot next to Dad's truck, car doors open; Dad unlocks motel door and enters the room while Dean pops the trunk. Sam grabs a duffle for each hand, turns sideways as Dean sidles by to reach Dad's truck. Sam pauses outside the door, Dean arrives, two duffels in hand just as Dad walks out of the room and nods to them. (Winchester code for "Coast is Clear".) Sam places his duffels near the bathroom door, along the farthest wall; Dean places one duffle on the table -if no table, then on dresser- and the other between the beds. Sam walks out, dad walks in carrying the two duffels – one bulky with weapons and the other smaller with ammo. Dean unzips the duffle closest to bathroom and walks out of room, dad right behind. Sam carries two more duffles, everyone turns sideways as they walk past each other. He puts one duffle on each bed. Goes to unzipped duffle and pulls out 2 midsized cans of salt. Outside, Dean grabs a hiking backpack, dad grabs another bag. Whump! Impala trunk is closed. Dean walks in, tosses keys on dresser. Sam lines bathroom windows with salt…_

They each had their roles and moves down pat, in a routine that they could all do (and have done) in their sleep.

_Sam continues to line doors and windows; Dean rolls out a worn towel on the dresser and begins to lay out the weapons on top. Dad walks in, closes door. The last bag he carries is set near the wall with the most space. One prime specimen of the finest motel art (beach scene) is lifted from the wall and placed flat on the floor and slid under the bed. This allows space to tack up maps, photo's, newspaper clippings and any other minutiae that could be used in the hunt. His dad unzips the bag._

A thick folder is pulled out from the bag first and Sam stopped moving. Dean, always tuned into what he refers to as "Sam Radio" (even when his back is turned), shifted imperceptibly - his body angled to face Sam.

Sam's eyes are riveted on the bulky, dark brown folder, its movements tracked as his father passed the folder from one hand to other, lost in thought and seemingly unaware of Sam's attention. After an eternity (fifteen seconds), his father walked over to the round table near the door and placed the folder on the table.

(Winchester code for "We will be here long enough for you to go to school").

Sam can't hide his grin as he finished lining the salt and even playfully bumped his shoulder into Dean's when his brother claimed the first shower.

Belongings sorted in their temporary places, Sam reached into the ammo bag and began to make salt shells. As his father walked by, Sam felt a fleeting squeeze on his shoulder before the hand moved to the top of his head. (A father's code for "Are we good, son?"); Sam lets him (a son's code for "We're good, Dad".)

Winchesters do apologies their own way.

Dean came out of the bathroom and his father went in next, as Dean passed by Sam's chair, Sam was treated to a playful push that almost unseated him.

"Watch it, Jerk." There was no sting in the words as Sam righted himself.

"But I'm your Jerk, Sammy, you know you would be lost without me." Sam snorted when Dean sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. He nodded toward the folder. "So…school tomorrow."

"Yep." Sam popped the "p" and grinned as he pulled out more rock salt from the ammo bag.

This time Dean snorted.

"Nerd."

Sam looked over his shoulder.

"Yeah, but I am your nerd, you know you would be lost without me."

Dean rolled his eyes, then winked. Sam grinned and turned back to continue filling shotgun shells with rock salt.

* * *

The night the Winchesters arrived in Sunnydale seemed like any other.

Most of the town's inhabitants would have given no thought to the sleek black machine as it rumbled along the highway that led from the interstate toward the sleepy California town. Most of its human inhabitants, that is; it was the town's other inhabitants, though, that warily watched the Impala and speculated quietly what it meant.

A few left town.

One celebrated its arrival, but later regretted it.

Unbeknownst to the small family that slumber in the room, lives were about to change. For better or worse? Only time would tell.

* * *

**A/N**: This is a reposting. It was the first fic that I ever started and I wanted to finish, but the same time, I wanted to do an overhaul to fix some of the content that has bothered me and correct inconsistencies. This is basically the same story, but I have combined chapters and expanded some sections to add more content to provide more background on the Winchester's and include meaningful interactions between Sam and the Scoobies. If you took the time to re-read, or if this is your first time reading this fic, I hope you will leave a review and let me know your thoughts. When I took this off FF, it had almost 75 reviews. Dare I hope to break the record? After this note, I will try to keep the A/N to a minimum. Updates will be added regularly, since this fic is almost complete! Next update will be Sunday.

Stay Tuned…


	2. Chapter 1 Trust No One

**A/N: **Thank you to my beta Tametiger! However I play right up until posting. I finished last minute touch ups on this early, so enjoy and let me know what you think :)

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Trust No One**

In his small family, Sam was the odd duck.

While most parents would smugly sport the "Proud Parent of the (fill in the "school-of-the-week" here) Honor Roll Student", Sam's steady stream of straight A's and 4.0 average would be rewarded with a shoulder squeeze and the occasional quizzical stare from his father.

Sam knew his father loved him and respected Sam's scholastic accomplishments, but John Winchester, for the most part, tended to ignore Sam's grades while he rewarded Sam's "other", more unusual, accomplishments in more overt ways.

Since he could talk, Sam had been learning Latin at home. At that young age, he didn't know why it was so important that he learned the language, but he liked the attention he got from his father when he successfully conjugated Latin verbs. Once, when he was eight, he overheard his father and brother talking about their most recent Latin lesson.

"Dad…it's amazing. Did you see how he recited the passage? He had it down after two lessons. _Two_. It took me twice as long to get that passage down."

Sam felt a grin spread across his face at his brother's compliment.

He hoped Dean would never learn that he had cheated…well not cheat, not really. He had a teacher once who told him that he had a photographic memory and explained to Sam that he wasn't cheating; his brain just had an ability to take "pictures" of things and store those photos until Sam needed the information.

Sam asked her if everyone could do that; her slow shake of the head confirmed his thoughts. She clarified her meaning – some people were better at certain things than other people - and talked about Mozart being a child prodigy in music, named others who excelled in Sports and academics and explained that they didn't cheat; they were just able to perform feats that came more naturally to them to other people.

"He's got a talent for Latin." His father said, "I think that very soon he is going to be on the same level as you Dean."

Dean snorted in response.

"Give him a little more time Dad and he will be teaching you."

While they both chuckled over this, Sam quietly crept back to his room as something warm and fuzzy settled in his stomach. He could hear the admiration in his brother's voice and the quiet pride in his father's. After that lesson Dean referred to, he had lain in the bed as he recounted the lesson and in a flash he had a perfect image of the words from the lesson in his mind. In his mind, he had studied the "picture" of the lesson and repeated the words to himself until he fell asleep.

When Sam turned nine, he won the school spelling bee, easily able to spell complex words while the older fellow competitor's struggled with words that Sam could spell in his sleep.

When he proudly told his father about how a local journalist was coming to interview them for an article in the local paper, he expected a hug, praise, even a simple "I'm proud of you." He beamed when his father squeezed his shoulder slightly in wordless approval before he turned toward his oldest son.

"Dean." His father quietly spoke his older brother's name and with a nod Dean grasped Sam's hand.

"Time to go, Sammy."

Within an hour, the small family was packed up into the Impala and on their way to the next town. Silently, Sam wondered who was going to meet the reporter to explain how he could reach them so he could still interview them.

The first time Sam, age eleven, successfully recited an exorcism in Latin with no error's, John affectionately ruffled Sam's hair while exclaiming "That's my Boy!", promptly called Bobby, Pastor Jim, Caleb and even Bill Harvell to boast with a grin that lasted all night long.

When he was twelve, he hit the bull's-eye with a gun - clearly Sam didn't have his brother's ability with guns; Dean hit his first bulls-eye when he was nine - his father and older brother Dean simultaneously fist-pumped the air and John reached for his phone while Dean yelled "Way to go!" loud enough to startle some birds out of a nearby tree.

As the birds flew swiftly in to the air, Dean waited for Sam to lock the safety before he jumped on the younger Winchester's back and wrapped his arms affectionately around Sam's neck; "Knew you could do it, Sammy!"

When he devoured books on lore, legends and local histories, John gave an approving nod; when he curled up in the back seat of the family car reading poetry, Shakespeare or any other non-supernatural-related book as the Impala roared down the road to the next job, Sam could feel his father's stare, as if he was a challenging puzzle where pieces were missing and there was no picture on the box to guide its completion.

His love of learning mystified his father because, if it was not useful for the hunt, John Winchester couldn't see the point in bothering.

The simple fact was Sam enjoyed learning and he enjoyed school.

He enjoyed the classes, the content and, most especially, enjoyed the satisfaction he felt when he got an "A" on a paper or test. He worked hard to keep his grades high and, when out of school, tried to stay ahead of the current curriculum.

When Sam was in Grade Seven, he read at College level, mastered the quadratic equation and had taught himself the basic applications for calculus. Sam was determined that the Hunter lifestyle was not going to hold him back in any scholastic areas, for him, school was the closest to normal he would get and he hung on to the experience tighter than a toddler hung on to a forbidden toy.

Dean always approached school, and any subsequent assignments related to school, with the "band-aid" approach, otherwise known as "get it over with as quickly as possible".

Sam knew Dean was just as smart as he was. Dean could memorize a particularly intricate Latin exorcism just as fast as Sam, could recite various ways to determine what type of supernatural creature they were up against as well as the top two most effective ways to eliminate said creature.

However, when it came to schoolwork, Dean put in a minimum of effort, preferred instead to spend as much time as possible cleaning their guns, practicing the drills that their father set up for them or, if he had spare time, trying out his collection of "pick-up lines" - Dean's collection was vast and bold enough to cause Sam's cheeks to redden in embarrassment on a near constant basis - on any female that caught his eye.

For Sam, the most difficult challenge with the merry go round of educational institutions was not the curriculum, it was social aspects.

Friends.

Fitting in.

Belonging.

With each move, it got a little harder to leave behind friends, and got a more difficult to make new ones. Although it was only February, this was his fourth school since the school year began and he supposed he should be accustomed to the continuous changing of schools, but for some reason, this change was the toughest.

Sam focused on moving forward, rather than looking back. He tried to be optimistic and found qualities about each school that helped to make his transition smoother.

Some schools had great programs that challenged him- like joining the Mathletes in Nebraska. He had been really good and the team thought that he would help them get to the state championship level, but they left town before that happened; his dad and Dean went on to the next hunt and Sam went on to the next school.

The last school had been great; he had been invited to join the school track team and the coach had been impressed with his long legs and stamina. Little did the coach know, Sam had spent his whole life on the run, it was easy and familiar and their father had him and his brother on a set training schedule that often had Sam, not only running but doing it in combat boots

"Sam if you need to run, then run hard and run fast," this had been repeated to Sam since before he even knew that monsters and their like existed. "There will be no time to stop and change into shoes. God damn it, Son, if you have to, you run in your bare feet."

A five hundred meter run on an even school track in sweat pants and good shoes had been easy when compared to the drills his father had developed for his sons.

It only took one day to find the upside to Sunnydale High.

It was the school's library.

* * *

Due to the nature of the "family business", Sam's life was mix of boot camp (his father was an ex-Marine), Crime 101 (his brother was a near-expert forger and Sam could pick almost any lock while their father ran credit card scams and impersonated a myriad of law enforcement officials) and dangerous (not many other seventeen year olds knew how to suture a variety of bullet and knife wounds). From his earliest memory, this was the life that Sam knew – transient, always with one foot out the door, governed by a set of rules and protocols set by his father.

The first rule was absolute.

Trust. No. One.

Besides their family, Sam knew of few exceptions.

Over the years, if John thought it applied to their lifestyle, new rules and protocols were added.

A few years previously, John had gotten particularly lucky after a successful night of pool hustling and he treated Sam and Dean to a night at the movies. It had been action packed, one of those cop/buddy-comedy movies and they had all had a good laugh. In one part of the movie, a fellow cop was being tested – he had to walk into a room and with no more than a few seconds worth of glancing around, his eyes were covered and he was asked to describe the room in as much detail as possible.

Trust John Winchester to find some way to turn a cop comedy into yet another training exercise for the brothers.

From then on, no matter what type of environment, John would growl out his "close your eyes" command and one of the brothers had to describe their environment as much as possible until it was second nature to note the number and type of cards parked nearby, when outdoors, the position of the exits in any room and a good description of nearby pedestrians or customers in a business, when indoors.

It didn't take long for Sam to habitually maintain a constant awareness of where he was or who he was with.

* * *

Half-way through his first day at Sunnydale High, Sam had a free period and was looked for a quiet place to study for the SATs.

He would never tell Dean this, because he wanted to avoid the typical Dean response ("What do you need SAT's for? It's not like you are going to College!"). He took every opportunity to study- as often as they moved, he needed to study – and, contrary to what his brother chose to believe, Sam wanted to go to College.

When he first walked into the library (one interior entrance, exterior emergency exit located against north wall and another door that seemed to lead to a small, windowed office) forty-five minutes ago, it looked like a normal school library; a little on the small side, but it was quiet and offered a lot of natural light. He asked the librarian, (male, 5'11, approximately 185 pounds with neatly-trimmed brown hair and glasses) where the computers were located and got an earful about "those hideous contraptions!" in a British accent followed by a shudder and an introduction ("Rupert Giles- School Librarian!"). When Sam told Mr. Giles what he needed, he was shown to the appropriate section. Mr. Giles told Sam to let him know when he was ready to check out the books.

Sam thanked him politely, but he would not check any books out. He'd learned his lesson a few years previously and still felt guilty when he had thought about an abandoned stack of books that he had once checked out from the Houston Central High School library but failed to return due a suspicious sheriff who asked too many questions which led to a hasty, but necessary departure they had made one night.

Such was their life.

Sam wanted to wait to return the books the next day but his dad said there was no time. It killed him to leave them behind as he had to make do with a hastily scrawled note: "Please return to the Houston Central High School library".

He hoped that the motel manager or housekeeper would find the stack, but still there was no way of knowing if the books made it back.

Dean, of course, knew how much that bothered Sam. Occasionally, he reminded Sam about the books; "One Day, Sammy, you are going to get a bill on those books" and, Sam, genius that he was, learned his lesson and never checked out another book.

Being the annoying older brother he was, Dean noticed and commented on it "Jeeze Sammy- if you want books, just take the Damn things!".

But Sam wouldn't consider stealing one either. Sam never stole a book – too much of his life involved stealing or scamming – Sam drew the line at books. It was Rule Number Two in Sam's private list.

Rule Number One was never skipping class. To Sam, school was sacred and he never willingly abused this privilege or took it for granted…he missed so much school as it was. Life with Dean and Dad ensured that Sam's attendance at school was spotty at best; therefore, once Sam walked through the doors of a school, he made it a point to stay until the school day was over.

Sam shelved his book, looked at his watch and noticed that he still had about seven minutes before the bell would ring. Perhaps, after his last class he could come back to the library and read.

He wandered around until he found the Classics section, taking his time as he quickly perused the labels on the spine of each book. As he scanned the rows, he idly thought about Dean and his Dad, off on a hunt and would not be back until later this night.

Sam thought about picking up a few items to make a meal on his way home.

Carrots, broccoli …hmmm "A Tale of Two Cities"…cauliflower, chicken? "The Man in the Iron Mask"…stir-fry? Could he make a stir-fry in the microwave?..."The Count of Monte Cristo" (been awhile since he'd read that one)…"Dracula" …"Vampire Slayers in the 17th Century"…maybe a spicy peanut sauce on the stir-fry…"A Slayer's Guide to Weaponry"…or a salad with...

"What the hell?"

Sam regarded the two volumes that were side by side on the end of the shelf; they did not look like the classics and he figured it must be a part of some kind of joke. Unable to resist, he pulled the first book from the shelf, slim, with an old, worn leather cover that looked as if it would fall apart and the words "Vampire Slayer's in the 17th Century (Vol 4)" embossed in gold on the front.

He opened the cover and, to his surprise, there was no publisher's mark or copyright page. It looked more like a handwritten journal of sorts and appeared genuine – it would be difficult to duplicate both the almost transparent quality of the paper or the careful old-fashioned script inked by the author.

This book was not unlike a multitude of others that Sam had come into contact with while he assisted his father with research.

Lore and legends were often described in journals such as the one in his hand.

What was it?

Sam turned the book over and saw the faint indentations on the cover…the words were not embossed, which made it difficult to make out the words. Sam walked over to the side of the room, where light came through the windows near the ceiling. He ran his fingers over the words.

It read: A Watcher's Guide.

What is a watcher? What are they watching? What was this book? Sam had never seen anything like it. The bell rang and Sam walked over to the shelf to place the book on the shelf, and then hesitated. He knew he should put the book back and get to the next class (Calculus) but Sam didn't want to do either.

For the first time, in a long time, Sam was tempted to break his two rules.

His dilemma was solved by the sound of footsteps and hastily, he shoved the book back on to the shelf.

Mr. Giles smiled at Sam. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, no, I need to get to class anyway" Sam replied.

He tried not to look, but his eyes were drawn like a magnet to the book. Damn…it was not flush with the shelf and looked out of place. Perhaps the librarian wouldn't notice and the book would still be there after class ended.

"Well, if you need any assistance in the future please let me know."

"Thank you, Sir" Sam said. "I should go. Oh! What time do you close?"

Mr. Giles peered over his glasses as Sam, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I-I suppose I am open until four, but no one-"

"Thank you! I will be back at three." Sam said the words over his shoulder as he turned and walked away.

"-no one ever comes in after school." Mr. Giles finished to himself.

The librarian looked at the shelf and automatically he reached out to push a book back so it would be flush with the shelf, but, as his fingertips touched the soft leather, he gasped quietly. He pulled the book off of the shelf and ran his hands over the embossed letters on the leather book much like Sam had done just a few minutes before.

"What on earth…" He looked back at the shelf and his eyes widened when he saw the other book.

He glanced back at the doors that Sam had just left through.

"Oh, drat that girl! Note to self…" he muttered, unaware of the thick volume that had been placed on the lowest shelf. "…don't punish the slayer for being late to training by making her shelve books!"

* * *

Sam shifted, acutely conscious of the smallness of his desk and pulled his long legs back as the American History teacher paced back and forth in front of him. He knew he should be paying attention to the teacher's lecture, but he was distracted by the two books he had seen earlier in the library while one word 'Watcher' repeated in his thoughts.

He was intrigued, excited and dismayed all at once.

The researcher in him loved the idea of discovering an unknown fact, the Winchester in him wanted to know more and the sensible part of him questioned if his brother and father were right all along – he was a Hunter after all.

Again, he slid his eyes up to the clock, uncharacteristically relieved to see that fifteen minutes remained until the end of the day. Uncomfortable, he shifted again in his seat and caused his desk to move. His pencil slid off the top of the desk and he watched as it rolled under the chair of the teenager seated in the row across from him. Earlier the same classmate had loaned Sam a textbook and Sam tried to think of his name as the kid handed him back the pencil.

Sam looked at the kid's hands and noticed his nails were coated with black nail polish. Oz, Sam remembered. The kid's name was Oz.

Finally, the bell rang and Sam tried to stem the anticipation he felt. He returned the textbook back to Oz, thanked him for the loan and he headed toward the library.

Mr. Giles was not at the front desk and the library was quiet. Quickly, Sam strode over to the Classics section and reached the shelf were he had the left the Slayer volumes.

It was not there.

Sam hunched his shoulders and stooped to get a closer look at the shelf. He located the Dracula book, but the two volumes that had occupied his thoughts and sparked his curiosity were gone.

What happened to the books?

His brain raced through a few scenarios and he settled on the two most obvious reasons: either he imagined the books or someone took the books. Sam had never been accused of having an over-active imagination therefore, with the first option ruled out, Sam deliberated over the second.

Who removed the books? And why?

His eyes narrowed and he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip as he leaned against the wall while he studied the shelf before him. He scanned the titles on the shelves as he thought about the missing books. Their absence (and his Winchester gut) told him they were important.

He was about to leave when his eyes glanced at the bottom of the shelf across from him. He couldn't see the spines of any of the books on the shelf except the one book that was too large for the shelf, it barely fit and protruded over the edge of the shelf.

Sam lips curved, he could identify with being too big and out of place.

He reached down and his hands grasped the thick book, the cover was a dark, russet brown and smooth, worn by many years of use. Sam held the book, inhaled its faint musty odor and felt at home. Just like Bobby's journals. Gently, he turned the book over and ran his fingers over the lettering, savoring each word: A WATCHERS GUIDE -The Slayer's Arsenal.

He was so absorbed in the book, he had no idea how long he stood against the wall. A minute? Ten? Half hour? As usual, once Sam became immersed in a book, the world fell away, an ability which helped him survive the tedious road trips as his family moved from one town and one hunt to the next. Dean had his music; for Sam, as long as he had his books, time sped along.

In each town, he hunted for a buy/sell/trade store. To avoid the books being tossed out in the trash - along with the endless bags of cold fries and fast food containers - Sam learned to protect his books. He would sit in the back seat and kept the books under the seats in front of him. He didn't mind the back; he sat sideways in the seats, laid his legs across along the back seats and rested with his back against the door. He read anything he could - fiction, non-fiction, mystery, action, adventure… he even read romance (he was no snob).

He didn't notice the voices at first; he became aware of his surroundings gradually. The natural light that streamed in from the windows near the ceiling had faded. Annoyed, he angled his body and his eyes squinted to compensate. Uncomfortable after standing in one position for such a long time, he shifted his weight.

Then there were the voices and, appalled at his lack of awareness, Sam realized he was not alone.

"…a little discretion is all I ask; be aware of the where the books belong. Someone could have found them." Sam recognized the soft British accent of Mr. Giles.

"Well…I was tired. You had me training later than usual and I still had to patrol." A girl's voice this time, young, around his age, Sam guessed. "Can you blame me Giles? Don't answer that!" She said the last part quickly.

Sam peered around the shelf in front of him to get a look at the girl. He leaned further and caught a glimpse of a blonde ponytail. Judging by her height (5'1 maybe, but no taller than 5'3, blonde hair), Sam guessed she would be about thirteen, but, even from the back, he could tell she was older. She wore black pants, the kind girls used for workouts that fit snugly over her backside and a gray tank top. She reached for one of the books off the cart and Sam admired the lean, toned muscles of her arms (and other body parts).

She may have been little, but Sam suspected that the she was stronger than she appeared since her arms had muscle definition that a personal trainer would envy. She held the book up and waved it in front of the librarian's face.

"It not like anyone uses this library! No one is ever here!" she exclaimed.

"That is not the point. Buffy, I gave you a task and I expected you to do it properly. This was irresponsible and…I-I expect more from you Buffy." The Librarian shook his head sadly.

"Aww Giles," said Buffy, "I'm sorry. Really I am. Look at this face. Isn't this the face of sorry?" The girl hung her head and pointed to her face. She tilted her head and looked at Giles and blinked. Mr. Giles' lips twitched.

"Really Giles. Consider me repentant-girl. I really am sorry. But – books? Ugh. Can't you just make me do flips? Ooooh… I could do flips! How many? Ten?"

Sam's eyes widened as he watched the girl start to flip backwards, one flip after another, always her feet landing neatly in the same place. When she was done, she was barely winded. She looked at Giles.

"Was ten good? I can do more if you want."

"Buffy please!" Giles protested, holding out his palm to forestall the girl and, losing his battle with himself, he gave an unwilling laugh. "Enough. Shelving books was your penance for being tardy to training for two weeks! Two weeks Buffy! I cannot stress how…"

"…important it is for me to be vigilant with my duties…blah blah blah. I heard you the first twenty-five times Giles." Buffy interjected.

"Buffy, now is not the time to be so-so cavalier!"

Sam looked at his watch, his smile at watching the exchange between the teen and the librarian faded. It was 4:30 and he needed to hustle if he still wanted to grab food and be back at the motel before five. His Dad called every day at 5:00 (AM and PM) to check in him when he was away overnight and Sam had to be there when the phone rang. It was Winchester Protocol Number One, always be there when the call came in, because if there was no call…well then it was time for Winchester Protocol Number Two; call in the cavalry -otherwise known as Bobby Singer.

He had to go.

"...still need to patrol tonight." The girl named Buffy finished.

Patrol? What could she mean?

Reluctantly, Sam took a deep breath and stepped away from the shelves, into the librarian's sight (back to the wall with three long, narrow windows and a skylight above him).

"Umm…sorry to interrupt, but I…" quicker than Sam could blink the girl did a sideways flip, turning her body in midair and landed in between Sam and Mr. Giles. She shifted her weight, balanced on the balls of her feet and raised her fists protectively in front of her. Sam paused and looked down at her.

"Who are you? Why are you spying on us?" She tilted her head to look up at him. Sam resisted the urge to pat her on the head but couldn't help but wonder what her reaction would be if he did. He didn't hide the grin that spread across his face. She was so tiny!

Buffy narrowed her eyes.

"Start talking." She snapped.

"I'm Sam. It's my first day here at school. I lost track of time reading back here and just realized I need to get back…home" Sam finished lamely. Home…if you could call that moldy motel room home.

"Humph" said Buffy, but she relaxed her stance a little and Sam felt it was safe to move.

"I wasn't spying. I only just stopped reading a minute ago. You know how it is when you get lost in a good book, everything just…" The girl dropped her fists and looked at Sam like he had just sprouted tentacles. Sam looked at Mr. Giles, who was nodding.

"Yes, yes" he agreed "I know that feeling well. Everything around you fades until it is just you and the story." Giles and Sam shared a smile, Buffy snorted and both males looked at her.

"Giles! Time!" Buffy tapped her wrist.

"Right, right. Well, young man…er…Sam, thank you for stopping by but we are closing" He ushered Sam out of the door.

As he walked away, he heard Giles' voice say, "No! Not so fast young lady. First, we will work with the daggers."

Sam chuckled to himself as he jogged out of the school back to the motel. _This town_, he thought to himself, _just gets better and better_.

* * *

_He had friends in Sunnydale who were playing their own small part in his plans - plans that had been decades in the making._

_Phase One – free The Master, who had been trapped there for more than fifty years. He made it a point to stop by once a decade to catch up on old times with his old friend._

_It had been eight years since his last visit. Time to return to Sunnydale and check on the boy…_

* * *

**A/N:** Looking for a beta for some later chapters. Anyone interested? Will try to post Chapter 2 on Sunday, then I am going on a cruise :)

Stay Tuned…


	3. Interlude One

**A/N:** These occasional interludes may not be long, but I try to tie them into the story, since Postcards will be an ongoing theme for this fic. Thank you to my beta Tametiger!

* * *

**Interlude One**

Bobby Singer

Singer Auto Salvage

Sioux Falls, SD

Bobby,

Did you get a chance to look through the book I sent you at Christmas? Sorry I didn't include a note with it. You probably saw by the postmark that I sent it from Louisiana. I found it at a church bazaar in this little town just east of Lake Charles and as soon as I saw the words "HooDoo" I knew it would be perfect. Anyways, I wanted you to get it before Christmas, so I just tossed it in the mail. Our latest stop on the Winchester never-ending grand tour of the US of A is a California town called Sunnydale.

Anyways, found this card a few gas tanks ago and, in keeping with our little tradition, you can now add California to your postcard collection. If I recall, you should now only be a few postcards short of a full-deck. But then, aren't you always?

Ha ha, just kidding Bobby.

Sam

* * *

Amanda Caldwell

C/o Creekside Retirement Home

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Mrs. Caldwell,

I am sorry that I was not able to come to your 90th Birthday party, it was very kind of you to invite me and I was looking forward to cheering along with everyone else at the Creekside Retirement Home when you blew out those candles. I hope you weren't too disappointed when I failed to show, but my father got transferred and we needed to move quickly. I will miss our discussions about literature; it is obvious that when you retired the teaching profession lost a great teacher. I am certain, however, that your love of literature inspired many a student to follow in your footsteps!

I had a gift for you and I hope it has found its way to you. Unfortunately, I had to leave it with Jordan, the night aide since we were leaving after visiting hours, but he assured me that he would deliver it safely to you along with my regrets.

I feel badly, since you generously spent so much time with me as I worked on my College entrance essay. Your feedback was invaluable and I have taken your notes to heart and I think, in the end, it will make for a much stronger essay.

Lastly, I wanted to thank you again for your letter of recommendation. Your confidence in me is greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Sam Winchester

* * *

Pastor Jim Murphy

C/o Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church

Blue Earth, MN

Pastor Jim-

Hit!

You sunk my battleship.

….umm….G3. If I am correct, I think I just sunk your destroyer.

Hahaha.

I win.

Sam

* * *

**A/N:** I see a lot of alerts, but not many reviews. How am I doing? This fic should run to approximately fifteen chapters, so there is more to come! Consider this a bonus. Chapter Two will post later today.

Stay Tuned…


	4. Chapter Two - Conversations in the Dark

**A/N: **Thank you to my beta Tametiger!

**Chapter 2**

**Conversations in the Dark**

Restless around ten o'clock that evening, Sam put on his sweatpants, grabbed the motel key and went out for a run.

His little family was a study in frustrating contradictions, old enough to be left alone, yet, when they were around, his father and brother were annoyingly overprotective.

He relished the measure of freedom afforded to him while his father and brother were away – had they been here, they would have protested against him going out alone so late. In the end they would have relented, after Sam was drilled in preparedness and "what if" scenarios. ("Where is your knife, Sammy? Which one are you taking? Why not the silver one? What if you meet a werewolf, Sammy?")

Of course, even when he was alone, his father and brother were never far from his thoughts (silver dagger strapped to his left calf, holy water bottle, small baggie of salt in his pocket).

In the last year, Dean had been joining his father on hunts, while Sam stayed alone in rented houses, if they expected to stay for a long period of time, or in the cheapest motel that the town-du-jour had to offer. He had tagged along on the occasional weekend hunt, but his father and brother were so protective of him that he rarely was in the forefront of any action. Sam was conflicted about this – he hated the transient lifestyle his family followed, but he was annoyed with their over-protectiveness. If needed, he could protect himself – it was, after all, what he had been trained to do.

Although it was February, the air was brisk, but not freezing and, as he ran along-side the streets, he let his thoughts wander over the events of his first day at Sunnydale High.

Compared to the myriad of schools he had attended in the past, it had been a satisfactory start.

Obviously, the school was small enough that his arrival was noticed and one friendly girl in particular with long, sleek chestnut hair stopped to help him find his classroom. She slid her hands up and down his arm, remarked on his biceps before she hooked her arm through his and escorted him to his second period Geography class.

"Aren't you just a tall drink of water," she purred when he thanked her for her help.

Clearly, she was interested, though Sam wasn't. Busty and forward weren't his type (he could almost feel the slap Dean would give him on the back of his head if Dean heard him say that out loud _"Bro! Are you INSANE? Busty and forward are any man's type! The BEST type!"_).

_Dean would have had this girl in a mop closet within two minutes _Sam thought. This was fact, not exaggeration, such events he witnessed on more than one occasion.

In third period English, he'd met Oz, a junior, who loaned him a textbook and effortlessly followed the lesson without the book. During the class, Sam remembered the kids in the back of the room goofing around. All it took was for Oz to turn in their seats and give them a look and the kids settled down. When the teacher asked a question and Oz spoke, the whole class got still and Sam watched as everyone leaned toward Oz as if they didn't want to miss a single word.

It was interesting.

At one point the teacher left the room, the class was quiet for a minute. Then, Oz leaned over to Sam and started talking and, as if on cue, the rest of the class started chattering to each other. Sam got the impression that if Oz didn't talk at all, the rest of the class would have stayed quiet too.

"So – you're new." Oz stated.

Sam, with the exception of a few minor details (demon-chasing, hunter father, hunter brother), practically spilled his life story, which only took about three minutes. Oz knew more about Sam than any person Sam had met in the last four years.

"I'm in a band." Oz said, "We are playing Saturday night at Steve's. You should come." Oz leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk. Again, as if on cue, all the kids in the class got quiet and, a few seconds later, the teacher walked back into the room.

Then he found the library. He marveled still over finding those unique volumes in a school library of all places.

The best and most surprising part of his day was the library, not to mention the petit blonde he had seen.

Sam slipped his head phones over his ears and picked up the pace of his jog. Jane's Addiction's "Been Caught Stealing" blasted into his ears; he grinned and his jog became a flat-out run.

Thirty minutes later, Sam leaned against a tree and started stretching out his legs and arms. After a few minutes, he sat at the base of the tree and closed his eyes. He listened to Billy Idol's "Prodigal Blues", unaware of the commotion behind him.

* * *

"So, I… Uh!... give him my fiercest glare…opf!... you know the one…" Buffy flipped the vampire over her shoulder put her foot on the vamp's abdomen and looked at her friend. Willow was sitting on the top of headstone, one leg was crossed over top of the other, the loose leg dangled and swung back and forth. She looked at Buffy and scrunched up her face.

"Would that be the one that feels like a cold wind coming down from Canada or the one that makes you feel no bigger than a wee-antie?" She held up her fist, with the forefinger and thumb extended, barely touching, to indicate the size of said wee-antie.

"Yes!" Buffy exclaimed, nodding her head in confirmation, and Willow followed suit.

"But did it make him feel all small and…wee? Did it? No! He was laughing at me, Willow! ME!" The vamp - tall, thin with a broad forehead and bug-eyed reminded her of Lurch from The Addams Family - squirmed under her foot, trying to get his hands in position to push her foot off. Buffy lifted her foot and stomped on the vamp on the last word.

Lurch grunted.

"He had no right! He stood there so tall and smirk-y and –and-did I mention the tall?" Buffy glared accusingly at the vamp under her foot.

"Tall." Willow made a scoffing noise. "Who did he think he was?"

Buffy knelt down, flipped her wrist and grasped a stake from nowhere. She pulled her arm back, and quickly plunged the stake into the vampire. Dust exploded, getting in her face and she tried, unsuccessfully, to keep from coughing.

"I don't know. But I have had it with the mysterious guys and the –oh!- tall! No more!" Buffy said.

"Ah." Willow gave a knowing nod. "So – no word from Angel lately then?" she asked gently.

Buffy hung her head for the briefest of moment, shaking it from side to side. Then she heard a noise from behind her and Willow pointed a helpful finger.

"Thhhhho…Thhhhlayer!" a voice hissed. She supposed it _could_ have been considered menacing, if it weren't for the lisp.

Buffy perked up. She wheeled around with a spinning kick, struck the vamp across the face and knocked him to the ground. As the vampire went flying, Buffy rolled forward across the ground and landed in a kneeling position in front of the vamp.

"You men! You are so - ugh!" She emphasized the last word with a vicious jab of the stake.

"Feeling better?" asked Willow hopefully.

"Much!" Buffy looked at her friend at grinned.

Willow looked at her watch and then gave a small yelp.

"Gotta go, Buffy, bed check is in ten minutes. If I am not home by then, my mom will wig." Willow called over her shoulder as she ran across the grass of the graveyard toward the road, toward her home. Buffy looked down at her clothes and brushed the dust off.

"Another pair of perfectly good jeans." She muttered mournfully as she inspected the grass stains on her knees and grimaced at the thought of the laundry she would have to do tonight. These had been her last clean pair of jeans and she had hoped they wouldn't get too dirty tonight, so that she could wear them tomorrow. No such luck.

With a resigned sigh, she started to walk across the grass to the road.

_Time for home_ she thought, until she saw a shape that started to separate from the tree.

The shape seemed to grow taller and taller in front of her eyes. As she shifted her weight, Buffy changed her stance into Slayer-stalking mode, her eyes narrowed as the shape separated from the tree and she recognized it.

"Hey! Are you spying on me again?" The guy (Sam, she remembered) started to walk away and Buffy gritted her teeth at the quiet chuckle she heard.

"Hey! I'm talking here!" she raised her voice a little louder but this had no effect on the newcomer's movements.

_They can't do that!_ She thought to herself.

She was the Slayer! Who did guys think they were walking away…first her dad, then Angel of the cryptic foreboding warnings and occasional smoochies, and now this, skyscraper of a kid? Buffy was tired of it!

She reached forward and grabbed his arm…

* * *

Sam knew it was time to go home, but for the first time in a few days, he felt relaxed. He stood up slowly from the tree and thought that it was a pretty spot, even if it was nighttime. He might come here tomorrow afternoon and do some reading. The fact that it was in a graveyard didn't bother him. It would be almost…refreshing…to be able to just sit in a graveyard without the usual digging, salting, burning and re-fill routine he engaged in with his family.

He chuckled at the idea …it was-

His thought never finished as he was suddenly yanked backwards and flipped on his back. The breath whooshed out from him and he blinked at Buffy, who stood over him with a smirk on her face and he didn't think he had ever seen anyone so beautiful.

He said aloud what he had been thinking for the last few hours.

"What's it like to be The Slayer?" He asked.

Buffy looked at him for a moment. Then with one of her snappy trademark comebacks, she said, "Hunh?"

* * *

They had sat at the base of the tree in front of the graveyard for the better part of half an hour.

At first, she stood over Sam - didn't even bother to deny the Slayer part - but she did want to know how Sam found out. She could hear Giles' voice in her head as he berated her inability to keep the Slayer secret; _"Good lord girl, do the words 'secret identity' not mean anything to you? First Xander and Willow and now this chap? Why not take out an ad in the Sunday edition of the Sunnydale Courier?"_

When he tried to sit up, Buffy just planted a foot on his chest, which forced him to lie back down; after three times he gave up and relaxed on the ground while she questioned him.

Sam explained how he noticed the Slayer volumes in the Library and had become intrigued; Buffy cringed and realized that was how Giles found out about the miss-shelved books, which she was supposed to have "put away in their proper place". She could only imagine his reaction if he learned that Sam had seen them too - she would never hear the end of it!

He recounted his return to the Library; she commented on the fact that it must be a Sunnydale high first – two visits in the school library from a non-Scooby on the same day were unusual, and his discovery that the books were missing. Instead, he had found "The Slayer's Arsenal" and became so engrossed in the book that he didn't realize that he wasn't alone until it was too late.

She snickered.

"They aren't exactly interesting," she interjected, "I mean, watching stakes being sharpened are more interesting that those things!"

Buffy was still skeptical until he mentioned her flips and seemed appropriately impressed, which prompted her to tell him if he believed that was impressive, he should see her roundhouse back flip.

In a friendly gesture, she extended her hand and clasped his palm for a moment when she pulled him up so that he was finally standing.

_That's funny,_ she thought to herself when she absently rubbed her tingling palm on her jean clad thighs and, in the darkness, didn't notice that Sam did the same.

They chatted for a few more minutes, until Buffy pointed to the base of the tree and told him, "Would you sit already? I am way- way too young to have the neck problems of a ninety year old hunchback."

It might be dark, but she could make out his shadow.

After he sat, she plopped down next to him. He asked her questions about being called, about Watchers and the need for secrecy; she shared with him about her guilt over the constant lies she told her mom and how it felt to be asked if she was "morbid much?" when she asked other people about mysterious deaths.

Sam nodded empathetically.

"I can relate," he responded, but failed to elaborate further.

Buffy didn't see how he – or anyone else for that matter – could relate to her situation, yet, at the same time, she felt as if he had told her the truth.

Soon, she told him about her first watcher, Merrick, and Lothos, the vampire that killed him. Unexpectedly, Buffy felt the sting in her eyes as she remembered Merrick, she tried not to think about him too much as the memories always brought a rush of sadness and guilt. Although it was dark and Sam couldn't see the sheen of tears in her eyes, he heard the catch in her voice when she spoke of Merrick.

"You miss him, don't you?" he asked.

"I do. In the beginning, I thought he was this crazy, old perv and even though I didn't know him for very long, he taught me so much. It hurt when I found out he was dead."

"And now, you have Giles." Sam stated.

"You make me sound so fickle!" Buffy said, peeved. "It wasn't like that you know. I wasn't all-like-'Oh my Watcher is dead, I need to replace him with a new Watcher.' We moved from LA and came here and Giles was already here, waiting for me. I didn't go looking for him or anything…" Buffy trailed off.

There were those feeling of sadness and guilt again.

She had tried not to like Giles too much, tried not to rely on him too much. But the liking of Giles crept up on her. He was just so – so – Giles. When it came to mystical entities he was the guru, the go-to guy, yet so clueless about everything else. Who didn't love a clueless Giles? He was so much fun to tease!

Sam sat quietly, head tilted toward her and just as Buffy was about to lose control and feel vulnerable and un-slayer-like, he looked away. Buffy took a deep breath and composed herself.

"I just wish there wasn't so much death." She said.

"There is always death," Sam said quietly looking at the stars.

The pair sat quietly together and studied at the night sky for a few minutes. Buffy decided she liked this guy. She didn't feel gauche and silly, as she sometimes did with Angel or the need to chatter on to fill the silence either. It was - Buffy searched for the right word – relaxing.

"Vengeance."

The word was spoken so quietly, she almost didn't hear him when he finally spoke, but it had a fierceness to it that made Buffy look at Sam. He stared straight ahead and then turned to look down at her. Buffy could not see his eyes, but she could feel the burning intensity of his gaze.

"I assume you got it." He continued, his voice soft.

Buffy looked up at his face. He leaned forward, his face close to hers. Buffy, looked into his eyes (at least she hoped it was his eyes, she could have been looking at his left nostril for all she knew).

"Oh I got my vengeance," her voice rang with satisfaction, "I got it and then some."

Buffy told Sam about the Gym at Hemry. She told her story with humor and her description of her slaying tactics caused Sam to laugh out loud a few times.

"…and the next thing I know the gym is burning, police and fire trucks are pulling up to Hemry left, right and center and all the kids are pointing their fingers at me! That's gratitude for you," Buffy grumbled. "I save them from getting a giant vampire hickey and they tattle to the police!"

Sam shook his head. He couldn't believe that she burned down the gym and, if he hadn't seen evidence of her athleticism earlier, he wouldn't have even believed that she could take on one vampire, let alone a gang of them.

"The police might have labeled that 'illegal and destructive' but I call it 'resourceful and heroic'." Once he uttered the words Sam wished he could retract them. He sounded like a freaking turd. In fact if his brother were here, he would smack Sam on the back of his head and tell him "Stop being a freaking turd!"

Buffy, however, didn't seem to mind.

"Resourceful and heroic," She mused to herself, "I like the sound of that." She reached up and stretched her arms about her head, arching her back before she stood up. Sam stood up as well.

"It has been fun, riding this roller coaster of emotions with you, Sam. But now it is time for me to get home and get some shut-eye. I have a Biology quiz tomorrow that I am soooo not ready for. I need to get a good night's rest so I can really earn that "C+" that I deserve!"

"Good night, Buffy." Reluctant for their conversation to end, he quickly spoke again. "Want me to walk you home? It's really dark outside and someone could-" Realizing what he had been about to say, Sam flushed, grateful that the girl beside him couldn't see his face.

"Nah. The advantage of being a Slayer is the things that go bump in the night- human or otherwise - are not as scary as one might think."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow." _At least I hope I will_ he finished silently. With his family's lifestyle, he could never predict how long they stayed in any given town. Sam turned and jogged away.

* * *

Buffy turned and walked down the quiet road in the opposite direction, lost in her thoughts. Abruptly, she stopped and sighed.

"Okay…you can stop lurking in the shadows. It's late and I really need to get home."

"I can never sneak up on you, can I?" Angel said.

"Nope. Some call it instinct, others call it intuition. I call it Buffy's patented 'Vamp-dar' just another fringe benefit from being 'One Girl In All The World'. What's up? Has the Master hatched another heinous plan to escape his dimension-thingy?"

"No. Not everything is about the Master, Buffy." She bristled at the censure in his voice and wished she didn't always feel so silly, so young, when he was around.

"Sheesh. Sorry. It is just usually, you appear out of nowhere to warn me about the Master or some plot to 'lead the Slayer into Hell'. I just assumed-that's all."

"No, I was just out taking a walk, enjoying the nice fresh air, that's all." Angel said.

"Uh-huh," Buffy nodded skeptically, "'cause fresh air is what a vampire values most."

"Who was that guy?"

"That was Sam, a new kid at school. We bumped into each other."

"Bumped into each other? At a graveyard?" Angel paced the sliver of turf that ran parallel the concrete sidewalk. "And then you tell him your life story? Do you do that with every strange guy you meet?"

"Why are you acting so strange? You're acting like a jealous boyfriend - which you are not - boyfriend I mean, 'cause that would imply that we were dating - which we are not - because if we were dating, that would involve boyfriend things, like phone calls and dates."

Angel stopped his pacing and turned toward Buffy.

"Buffy, you know I-" Buffy held up her hand, they had covered this territory before.

"I know. I know." She said quietly. "I need to go."

"Buffy that guy…"

"Angel, please, I need to go home. I am tired." And suddenly she was. Tired. Tense. The relaxed feeling she had felt before, sitting under the tree with Sam, was gone.

"It's just…" he floundered, "Buffy, I don't think he is just a guy. I think..." Angel stopped and ran his hand through his hair.

"You think what, Angel?

"Buffy, I think he is a Hunter."

* * *

_He was in the Amazon when he felt…something. Nothing he could put his (human meat-suit) finger on, but it was like a slow drain of energy from his connection to his boy. He would not allow this; he had worked for too long and too hard. If he was right and this boy was The One, then he needed to find out what was happening._

_He had friends in Sunnydale, friends that played their own small part in his plans - plans that had been decades in the making._

_Phase One – free The Master, who had been trapped there for more than fifty years. He made it a point to stop by once a decade to catch up on old times with his old friend._

_It had been eight years since his last visit. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to return to Sunnydale a little early and check on the boy…_

~Stay Tuned…


	5. Chapter Three - Sam Breaks a Rule

**A/N: **Thank you to my beta Tametiger!

**Chapter 3**

**Sam Breaks a Rule**

Sam had a restless night in the Sunnydale Motor Inn, the kind of impossible sleep that happened when your mind refused to shut down and, when you added in the discomfort of motel beds that were too short, sleep was bound to be elusive.

When the numbers of the alarm clock glowed 4:45, Sam gave up, got out of bed and went into the bathroom. After he flipped on the light switch, he pushed the handle on the bathtub faucet over to the left side labeled HOT. Sam took his time, having learned a few days ago that the water heater in the Sunnydale Motor Inn was bottom of the line.

After a few minutes, the water temperature barely rose above tepid.

Sam was in and out of the shower in five minutes, longer than his morning routine usually allowed, but since his father and brother were not around to complain, he took his time. He toweled himself dry and put on some clothes.

At 5 AM, when the phone in his room rang, Sam picked up the phone before it finished its first ring, he expected the call.

"Checking in." his father's gruff voice said.

"I'm here Dad. How is the hunt going?" Sam replied.

"We were close on its trail, but it is a sneaky sonofabitch and it got away from us." John Winchester's voice sounded weary.

"You both coming back today?" Sam asked. His missed his Dad and his brother, Dean, but he also enjoyed the quiet. When his family was around, everything was always a flurry of activity; neither his father nor his brother could sit still for long, always with an eye on the next move, the next town, the next job. Subsequently, when these moments of solitude were available, Sam took advantage. He read books, studied for school or just sat still – things that he would be hard pressed to do with his brother around – and the added freedom of being able to go out at night without the Winchester "Sammy what are you doing?" knee jerk reaction. Seriously, it was any wonder that they left him alone at times.

"I hoped we could, but we seemed to have had a bit of a...malfunction with the car and we won't be back as soon as we thought."

In the background, Sam could hear Dean talking "Damn Gremlins are going to pay for what they did to my Baby!"

"Go to sleep Dean, we will get to work fixing the Impala in a few hours. Right now, I don't think I could tell a torsion rod from a dipstick." John Winchester told his son.

Sam knew it was time to let his father go.

"Okay Dad. Talk to you later."

"Yep. In twelve. And Kid," John's voice softened, "You doing good? With money and all? You have food?"

"I will be fine Dad."

"Okay…but just in case, I left an emergency card taped under the sink in the bathroom."

"Already found it. But I am good." Sam smiled.

"Night Kid - or, morning I guess. Enjoy school."

"Always do." Sam said.

John chuckled. "Kid, you get more like your mom every day. Checking out."

His dad hung up.

Bemused, Sam held the receiver in his hand for a moment and looked at it. It was a rare moment when his dad spoke about Mary Winchester. Sam knew so little about his mother and as always, whenever he learned a small nugget of information about her, it left him craving more.

His memories of his Mom came from photos and Dean. He knew that they couldn't really be called memories, but they were all Sam had.

_"I remember, this one time, Mom took us on a picnic. I got to mix the juice and she made the sandwiches and, because she knew I didn't like them, she cut the crusts off then cut them into little triangles. We didn't have a picnic basket, like the kind you see on those tv shows. Instead we put the juice and the sandwiches into a paper bag. We only made two sandwiches and when I asked her what you would eat, she just laughed and told me that you didn't have teeth yet, so you couldn't eat sandwiches. Instead, she showed me your bottle and promised that I would get to feed you. On the way to the park, she let me push your stroller and she sang her favorite song. Something about an angel in the morning. God Sammy, she couldn't sing at all! She was tone deaf!" The brothers laughed as Dean said this, "But to me, it was the most beautiful voice in the world..."_

With every story, Sam's image of his mother became less fractured and he likened it to an unfinished puzzle. He knew the color of her eyes, the color of her hair. She loved to sing (badly) and dance. And now, Sam added this new puzzle piece to his portrait of his mom. She had liked school! He put on his shirt and a jacket. Grabbing his school bag, Sam headed out the door.

Of course he was at the school before the doors were unlocked. Sam sat down in front of the school doors and leaned back against the wall. He thought about last night - talking to Buffy outside of the graveyard and the moment when she touched him when he swore it felt as if - he shook his head. It was nothing.

Absently, he rubbed his palm.

He had been so pleased when she answered his questions about Slayers and Watchers. He had enjoyed his conversation with her, enjoyed sitting beside her. He wondered about her life in Sunnydale.

He saw how focused his Dad and Dean were about Hunting. They lived and breathed it. Was Buffy like that? Did she have friends or was her life all about the Slaying?

He wondered what her reaction would be if he told her about his family. As soon as he had that thought, he pushed it away. He couldn't tell, it went against everything his Dad taught him. Yet, for the first time, Sam wanted to open up to someone and he wanted that someone to be a tiny, blonde tornado.

Sam regarded the sky. Although the sun should be rising, there was little sunlight, the sky was a flat gray color and a milky fog permeated the school grounds. Sam closed his eyes and waited for the Slayer to arrive at school.

"A bit early for school, aren't you?" A British voice asked him.

Sam opened his eyes and saw the school librarian in front of him. Sam hadn't heard him come up to him and imagined his brother's reaction. ("Damnit Sammy…you can't keep going off into your own world like that. You need to be more aware of what is around you, I can't be with you all the time to protect you!")

"Couldn't sleep." Sam thought his explanation was inadequate, but the Librarian simply nodded as if finding teens dozing in front of the school doors was an everyday occurrence.

Giles fumbled for the door key and a few books that he held in one arm dropped to the ground and Sam bent forward and scooped up the books while Giles opened the door.

"Do you mind if I come in with you? I don't mind sitting outside, but I would like to find something to read even more."

Giles laughed softly. "I know the feeling, young man. Yes, come along. I am sure we can find something for you."

The pair walked down the corridors to the library. Sam looked down at the books in his hand and read the spine of one book.

The Slayer's Quarry: Gems of Power and Enhancement

Quickly, Sam's mind ran through several scenarios as they walked into the Library and with a deep breath, Sam decided to be blunt.

"Mr. Giles," he began, "How did you know you wanted to be a Watcher?"

Giles looked at Sam.

"Watcher?" he queried.

Removing his glasses, Giles tilted them up to the ceiling and looked through them; although they were clean, he polished them anyway. It was a great stalling tactic-something he did when he needed to think or when he needed to stop himself from banging his head against the wall. Then he put the glasses on again.

"Yes. I am sorry. I have questions, but I don't know any other way to ask them. I know you are a Watcher. You see, there were these books in the library yesterday that I noticed…" Sam said.

"Oh drat that girl!" Giles exclaimed, whipping off his glasses, he polished them again.

Sam started talking. First he told him about the books and his curiosity and about his conversation with Buffy. (He left out the parts about Merrick-he wasn't sure why).

"And you weren't shocked? When you found out about Vampires?" Giles asked.

Sam laughed.

"Vampires? Nah. A little alarming maybe, but there are definitely worse things out there," he titled his head toward the window in a gesture that indicated the world at large. "We fought this demon once that I was sure was going to incinerate my brother, Dean, when he pissed it off, but my Dad was able to complete the exorcism bef..." Appalled, Sam stopped, the fond smile slipping from his lips.

He had just made a colossal error. He knew better, _he knew better_! His mind raced as he tried to think of a thousand different ways to change his words, but his mind went numb. Sam just stood there.

Giles regarded the Sam and sensed how uncomfortable the tall youth had just become. The young man looked as though he hoped a hole would open up in the floor and Giles was reminded of himself as a teenager. He searched for a way to make Sam feel more at ease.

"Sit!" Giles told Sam, pointing to the nearest table.

Sam walked to the table and sunk down into the closest chair. He wished he could rewind the last hour. He wished he knew what to do, wished his Dad was here and, wistfully, wished Dean hadn't graduated from school.

Giles sat across from Sam. Instinctively, he knew what to do. He answered Sam's question.

"I come from a long line of Watchers. I can't remember a time when I didn't know what was expected of me. From the time I could read, I was trained in the ways of a Watcher. As I grew older, I questioned whether or not I wanted this life and, believing it wasn't the right choice for me, I even ran away from it. However, I discovered that destiny has a way of finding you, whether you want it to or not."

He watched as the tension in Sam's shoulders began to dissipate. Sam opened his mouth to ask another question. Giles held up his hand.

"I gather that you know Buffy is the Slayer and you have some understanding of what this means?"

Sam nodded.

"If I trust you, I will not find my confidence misplaced?" Again Sam nodded.

"Sam, I will answer any question you have. But, you will have to trust me as well." Giles sat back in his chair and waited for Sam to speak.

Sam was quiet. He folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. He shouldn't even consider spilling his family's secrets like this. It was a major Winchester rule. ("_It's a family business Sam,"_ his father would say, _"and it stays in the family."_) Sam thought about the Giles' words , understanding that the Watcher would only trust Sam with his secrets if Sam returned that trust. Trust no one –except family. Trust no one…

It took Sam another minute or two to come to a decision. He looked at Giles, who was still sitting patiently, waiting for Sam to come to a decision. He gave the impression that he would wait as long as Sam needed.

Somewhat shakily, Sam took a breath and broke Winchester Rule Number One.

"Have you ever heard the term 'Hunter'?" he began?

Giles listened to Sam's story. The pair took turns asking questions of each other for the next 20 minutes. Out in the corridors of the school, the school began to come to life, doors opened and closed as teachers arrived and greeted each other in the halls.

"Gremlins? Mischievous little buggers. They will take anything mechanical apart and put it back together in the most inconvenient ways. My father discovered one in our house once. He tried to catch it, but it ran out an open window. For weeks, every time someone flushed the toilet, our doorbell would ring!"

Sam laughed. "Yeah? Well, my Dad didn't say what happened to his car, but my brother seemed pretty upset."

"You know, I have a few books that mention Gremlins. Let me see if I can find them." Giles got up and walked over to the front desk.

Sam couldn't believe the conversation they had just finished. It felt so good to tell someone about his life. He walked as Giles walked back to him with a short stack of books. For a moment, Sam wondered what Buffy would say if…

The doors to the library opened and the girl who occupied his thoughts appeared. Although her legs were short, her stride was long and confident.

"Giles," she burst out, "what do you know about Hun-"

She paused when she saw Sam, eyes wide with surprise.

* * *

For Buffy, the dawn had come slowly after a restless night of tossing and turning.

The rising sun's light was dulled by the gray sky and dense fog. It was different from a normal day in Sunnydale "The land of perpetual sun" - so unusual, in fact, that had Buffy not been so occupied with thoughts of jealous Vampire (not) boyfriends and (possible) Hunters, she might have remarked on the unusual weather to Giles and mused about the mystical meanings of such an occurrence.

It had been Buffy's experience that unusual events that happened near the mouth of hell pointed to mystical, magical or demonic activity.

Preoccupied, Buffy paid little attention to the weather and left home earlier than usual. Passing through the kitchen, she had picked up an apple, gave her mom a distracted kiss on the cheek and declined her mom's offer of a ride to school.

Joyce Summers had wondered briefly about Buffy's uncharacteristic desire to head to school early because, normally, Buffy delayed getting ready for school until the last possible moment. Watching her daughter head out of the back door, she decided that it must be about a boy.

Buffy walked to school and absently munched on her snack, the juicy apple gave a satisfying crunch when she bit into it, and contemplated the events of the night before.

Since heeding the call to become The Slayer, Buffy had thought she had seen it all: vampires, witches, a giant praying mantis, hyena people…it was par for the course in the life of the Slayer. However, until last night, she had never heard of a Hunter.

Hunters.

She wanted to know more.

According to Angel, a Hunter was like a Slayer, but minus the super strength. This tidbit of information gave her pause; if she didn't have super strength, would she still be able to seek out the things that went bump in the night? Would she still walk the graveyards at night, killing vampires?

Buffy doubted that she would be that brave. Yet, from what Angel had said, this was Sam's life.

She was bursting with questions and she knew just the Librarian to ask.

As she reached the school, Buffy's eyes searched the teacher's parking lot until she spied Giles' car and, as usual, the 1963 Citroen was lightly coated with dust. A smirk on her face, Buffy walked up to the car and wrote "WASH ME" with her forefinger on the driver's side window. For a moment, she studied her words and then etched the word "TODAY" underneath.

Satisfied, she turned away from the car and walked toward the school. Once inside the school, Buffy quietly made her way to the library and pushed though the double doors.

"Giles, what do you know about Hun-"she began, only to be stopped by the sight of Sam Winchester, seated at a table, long legs stretched out and surrounded by books. Giles carried a short stack of books obviously intended for the teen and paused.

Both males stared at Buffy. Giles peered at her over the top of the glasses that had slid down to the tip of his nose while Sam placed his finger on a page (presumably to hold his place in the book) and looked up alertly.

"About the…" Giles prompted.

Buffy looked from Sam to Giles and then back to Sam, who smiled at her, his eyes friendly. Naturally, she smiled back – it was always hard to resist a set of dimples – although she felt somewhat awkward, filled with indecision. While she wanted to know more about Sam, she didn't think this was a conversation she wanted to have in front of him, even if he did know more about her than most people. Her mind raced.

"Hun-dred Years War!" she said quickly. "What do you know about the 'Hundred Years War'?" She repeated.

Giles continued towards Sam's table, placed the books beside him and tapped the book on the top.

"Begin with this one, I think." He said to Sam. Sam nodded and pulled the book off of the top of the stack.

Giles walked back to his desk.

"'Hundred Years War' you say? For a history paper one would assume? Well, it all began with..."

Inattentively, she nodded at her Watcher while she watched Sam, who had quickly opened the book Giles had given him.

Head bent down, he opened the book and a smile played around the corner of his mouth as he read. Clearly, he enjoyed whatever he was reading and was not the kind of guy to skim a book.

Willow would like this guy, she thought to herself and in a flash, she had a picture of Willow and Sam walking hand-in-hand around the school hallways. She frowned when her gut gave a slight twist.

Giles eagerly pulled books to sort from a stack on his des his desk as he continued with his history lesson.

"… nice to actually see you take an interest in history…" he remarked and smiled fondly at Buffy. She suppressed a twinge of guilt and vaguely listened, her gaze still on Sam.

She watched as Sam absently began chewing on his thumb as he read until a sudden noise pulled her attention away.

"Blast it," Giles said.

He had walked into a cart, causing it to crash into the desk and a few books to topple on to the floor. Buffy walked over to help Giles. She glanced over at Sam and shook her head in amazement – he was still reading and hadn't been distracted by the disturbance.

Quickly, she helped Giles pick up the books from the floor.

"Giles, I need to talk to you," She whispered, "Alone. Can we go into your office?"

Giles stood up and placed the books on his desk. Giving Buffy an inquisitive look, he nodded.

"Excuse us for a moment, Sam." He said, walking into his office. Buffy followed, not allowing her eyes to stray toward Sam.

Once they were in the office, Buffy closed the door. Giles looked at her expectantly.

"Buffy, is everything okay? What is wrong with your hand?"

Confused, Buffy looked at Giles. He nodded at her hand. "You have been rubbing it ever since you arrived. Is your hand okay?"

Buffy gazed down at her palm, suddenly conscious of the tingle.

"The hand is fine, Giles." she put her hand in her pocket.

"Giles, I ran into Sam last night while I was on patrol." She began, and then paused. Reluctantly, she turned her head and looked through the office window where she could see Sam, completely absorbed in the thick volume in his hands.

"Giles…have you ever heard of a Hunter? Not a hunter-hunter," she mimed holding a rifle and closed one eye. "but a Hunter? Like me, but minus the super powers? A Demon Hunter?"

Slowly, Giles nodded.

Buffy waited for the inevitable exposition. Finally, she would get answers to her questions! She knew that Giles would know!

Giles looked at Buffy, saying nothing.

"Giles," Buffy prompted.

Giles still looked at Buffy

"I need some tea." He said abruptly. Buffy looked at Giles, confused. It was unlike Giles to withhold information.

Walking over to the small table in his office, Giles removed the electric kettle and carried it out the door.

"I am getting some water, I will be back" he said.

Sighing, Buffy sunk down in Giles' office chair and waited for him to return. Using her foot, she swiveled around slightly, until she could see Sam again. His hair was a little too long in the front and kept falling over his eyes and she wondered what he would do if she…whoa…Buffy stopped herself.

She could not have those thoughts.

She had a…she and Angel were a…something, which meant Buffy no-lookey at other cute boys no matter how floppy the hair or how adorable the dimples.

Buffy leaned her head back in the chair and closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? Angel, he was the one she thought about, dreamed about. When she was with him, the dark came alive, every scent, every sound was amplified; when he kissed her, she wanted the kiss to go on for forever. His kisses were so nice.

She frowned when she realized that she was rubbing her palm again. It had been tingling ever since...

Carrying his kettle, Giles come back into the office. She opened one eye and watched him as he plugged in his kettle and pulled out a small teapot and a strainer from a small cabinet beside the table. Carefully, he measured out a teaspoon of loose, fragrant tea, put it into the strainer and clipped it closed. The small sphere had a little chain which he draped over the rim of his cup when he placed the strainer inside.

Giles turned to Buffy. As if deciding something, he nodded, pivoted and walked out of the office. He walked up to Sam and said something to boy that Buffy could not quite hear. Sam stood up and both of them walked into Giles' office.

"OK. What is going on?" Buffy asked, irked. Somehow there was a loop and she felt left out.

Giles opened his mouth, but Sam started talking.

"Nothing is going on. It-"

"Nothing?" Buffy interrupted.

"It's my fault, I asked him not to tell you anything which wasn't fair of me." Sam looked at Giles, "I'm sorry." He said to him.

"So it is acceptable for you to know about me being The Slayer, answering all of your questions, but I can't ask about Hunters?" Buffy was getting really irked now. In fact, she was beyond irked and moving into seriously annoyed.

"Well, when you put it that way…" Sam said, looked uncomfortable.

Buffy looked at Sam, crossed her arms and raised her brows meaningfully.

Sam sighed.

"I am not a Hunter." Sam said. Skeptically, Buffy stared at Sam.

"I'm not…not really. My dad and my brother are Hunters and I just…help. Mostly, I just get left behind, do research and stuff, but my Dad and Dean take care of the actual hunting."

Buffy looked at Giles. "And you couldn't tell me this because…"

"It wasn't my secret to tell, Buffy, it is Sam's. I respect that, just like I don't go around town telling everyone you are The Slayer."

"Look, I will answer all of your questions, don't be mad at Giles." Hazel eyes looked at her with such remorse, Buffy softened.

"How many Hunters are there?"

"I don't know." Sam said. At Buffy's look, he repeated his answer, "I don't. Hunters don't associate with each other very much, I have met a few others that are friends of my father, but they generally work alone or in pairs."

The kettle whistled as steam rushed out of the spout and Giles unplugged the kettle. He filled his cup with water and left the tea to steep.

"What do you hunt?"

"Ummm…demons mostly, but, sometimes we get an urban legend that is real - you know local ghosts, mud monsters, Wendigo…that sort of stuff."

"Where do you live?"

Sam stopped, and something flashed in his eyes until he looked away. Buffy felt she had kicked a puppy and wondered why her question seemed to evoke such a response from him.

"We don't." Sam said softly. "We move. We locate the demon/monster or whatever, do research if we have to, kill it and we move."

"But when you are not moving, not on a-a hunt- where do you and your family live?" The question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

Eyes down, Sam shook his head, slowly and then he looked at Giles.

"Buffy, a Hunter's life is nomadic, always on the move. The only hunters that stay in one place are retired or-" Giles hesitated.

"Injured." Sam finished. "Permanently."

* * *

_The night before, he had glimpsed the boy._

_It was night and the boy was out for a run, which only reinforced his certainty…he was sure about this one. Sure, there were others, but he was confident that Sam would outshine all of the others. The kid was tall, ran with long, strong strides and although he was slender, his form was beginning to fill out._

_Now that he was closer, the link between strengthened and he wondered if he imagined the weakness in their link earlier, when he was in the Amazon._

_He knew he should leave and go to Africa, he was supposed to be meeting the mystic soon yet he couldn't help his urge to linger, to reassure himself that his boy was fine. There had been no reason for the disquiet that had been plaguing him._

_He watched as Sam continued his run through the street. Once out of sight, he released his essence once more and the meat-suit crumpled into a faint when it was abandoned._

_His first stop was with his friend, Mayor Wilkins. Like him, Wilkins was patient and knew the value of planning and follow-through. Wilkins was Phase Two for Sunnydale, still a few years off. Wilkins was aware of The Slayer too and felt confident that the Master would succeed as well._

_They reminisced about old times and discussed the future – of Sunnydale, the earth, Father._

_He couldn't stay long. Next, he would visit with The Master before taking a quick trip to Africa. He needed to see a mystic about a Hell-God. It could wait though. Phase three was still a ways away…_

* * *

Feedback? Good? Awful? Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?

Anyone?

Stay Tuned…


	6. Chapter Four Slayer Training

**A/N: **Thank you to my beta Tametiger!

**Chapter 4:**

**Slayer Training**

Deftly, Sam's fingers spun the dial of the combination lock that secured his locker. Although it was only his second day at this school, Sam already had his combination memorized. _("God Sammy- Why do you have to be such a dork? We'll move in a few weeks and then it will be a new school, a new locker and a new combination. Just leave it unlocked, then you won't have to memorize anything!_" his inner Dean chastised him.).

When the lock opened, Sam pulled out a notebook and pen. With a quick glance at his schedule, he noted the room number of his next class and smiled when he recognized it as the room that was across from the Library. After he closed his locker door (and made sure it was locked), Sam turned to walk to his next class.

A recent growth spurt had made it easy to see over the heads of the students in front of him and spot a certain petite blonde that had bent down to get a sip at the water fountain. Next to her, a girl with long, straight red hair leaned against the wall while she spoke to Buffy.

Buffy laughed at something the redhead said which caused her to begin to cough. A short (well relatively short, compared to Sam) dark-haired guy walked over to her and pounded helpfully on her back. Buffy tilted her head slightly to look at the guy and she smiled at him.

Eyes on the trio of teens, Sam slowed his steps and wondered how they fit together. Was the guy Buffy's boyfriend? The group, with Buffy in the middle, one arm around each friend's waist, turned down the corridor. He tried to make friends at every school but every friendship was new and he envied the level of camaraderie Buffy obviously shared with her friends.

What was it like to have a friend for longer than a few months?

Sam and his family had always moved on before he got to close and, no matter how many times he falsely promised the friends he left behind, he knew he would not keep in touch.

Winchester Rule number three. "We are not here to make friends". Once the job was done, they didn't stick around for backslaps, beer and barbecue's, they just quietly packed their gear and got the hell out of Dodge. Twice, Sam rebelled and made an exception, but he felt guilty afterward, as if he had committed a felony.

Although he tracked the back of Buffy's head as she walked down the hall, his attention was pulled away when he heard a commotion and saw a freshman getting shoved into a locker by a husky guy in a denim jacket. As Sam lengthened his stride, he saw Buffy walk toward the denim-clad agitator and grab his arm, which produced a belligerent protest from the bully.

From the way she stood toe-to-toe with the guy, not in the least intimidated by his insults, Sam was fairly confident that Buffy had the guy under control. Instead, Sam focused on the freshman, a pudgy youth with sandy blonde hair who was losing the battle with puberty and suffered a recent acne breakout. The young teen's school supplies had been knocked to the ground and, as no one had stepped forward to assist the red-faced kid, Sam bent down to help pick up the scattered items.

"Thanks." The kid muttered quietly while avoiding eye contact.

Sam empathized. Before hitting a major growth spurt a few years before, he had often been targeted by bullies. He understood that if he tried to talk to the kid now, he would only make him feel worse. As the kid edged away, Sam glanced to a nearby student and asked if he knew the kid's name.

"That's Andrew." A voice beside him volunteered, she had obviously overheard his question.

"Do you know what class he is going to?" Sam asked. He looked at the girl and recognized her as the red headed girl with Buffy.

"P.E., I think," she gave a quick shy smile then added "he had his gym bag with him."

Sam thanked her. Aware of another set of eyes watching him, he looked over the girl's head and locked eyes with Buffy. With one hand, she firmly gripped the bully's arm against the locker and ignored his ineffectual struggle to escape her grip as well as the string of insults he spat at her. The sight was a little ridiculous; Buffy was dwarfed by the tyrant who looked as if he played left tackle, the scene was eliciting snickers and snarky comments – not all of them were directed at Andrew.

"…I swear I'm gonna…" The guy blustered and flushed at the smirks on the faces of his peers.

Buffy looked away from Sam and turned to the bully.

"You're gonna what, Larry?" she asked softly. There was a subtle shift in her posture and whereas before she exuded annoyance, now she emanated danger. Wide-eyed, sweat visibly started to pool on Larry's forehead.

Larry stopped talking and in response, Buffy released his arm and told him to leave. Red-faced, shaken and obviously embarrassed, Larry left.

As if a switch had been flipped, Buffy's aura of danger vanished. Casually, she propped one hip on the locker and they shared a small smile. A lock of hair escaped the small silver barrette that pinned her hair away from her face and Sam resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Buffy's eyes moved away from his and he realized that the red-haired girl was speaking.

"…was nice of you to help Andrew. I'm Willow, this is Xander." She pointed to the dark haired boy. "and this is-"

"Buffy." Sam said.

Buffy looked at him. "Hi Sam."

Willow looked at Buffy and Sam, her already large brown eyes widened in surprise as she focused on Sam again.

"Oh. OH! Tall!" She squeaked then she pointed at him. "You are tall" then she giggled.

Bemused, Sam stared at Willow.

"C'mon Will. What have I told you about too much coffee in the morning?" Xander put his arm around Willow's shoulders. They were walking away, when Xander looked back at Buffy. "Buff?" he said, questioningly.

"Be right there." Buffy told him. Again Sam wondered if he was Buffy's boyfriend.

Buffy gazed at Sam speculatively. Sam sighed.

"How many more questions did you think of?" he asked her.

"Only three. Oh..no..four!" she replied.

"Okay, but you have to answer my questions too."

"Deal!" Buffy said to Sam.

"Do you want to talk after school?"

"I have training with Giles."

"Training? Slayer training?" Sam tried to keep his voice calm.

A small smile played at the corner of Buffy's mouth, "Yes. Why, do you wanna watch?"

Once again, Sam wished he was his brother. Dean had comebacks that made girls – Sam stopped that thought. Buffy probably had a boyfriend-if not that Xander guy, then some other guy. No way was a girl like her single.

Aware of her gaze, Sam just gave her a nod. The warning bell sounded throughout the halls and the kids around them picked up the pace to get to their classes.

"We should…" he said, reluctant to say goodbye.

"Yeah." She agreed and he could not stop the slow smile when neither of them moved. They both looked away and Sam cleared his throat.

"I gotta go…"

They both faced each other and took a few, hesitant steps backward.

"Me too. The joys of numbers await…" she said. Sam chuckled first, then Buffy's chuckle chimed in. "See you later Sam."

They both turned away but after a few steps, he looked back and grinned when he caught Buffy doing the same. Pink tinged her cheeks and she flashed a self-conscious smile.

Sam continued down the hall and mentally calculated the minutes to the end of school.

Buffy joined Willow and Xander. As they walked to class, Buffy barely paid attention to the snappy banter of her two friends. Instead, her thoughts were about Sam

* * *

Sam arrived in the class as the final bell rang through the school, glad when he spied a vacant seat and a familiar face.

Oz doodled in a notebook and greeted at Sam as he sat down.

"Hey Sam." He said.

"Hi Oz." Sam cocked his head to get a view of the papers in front of Oz. "That's a good drawing." He pointed to Oz's doodle of Marvin the Martian.

"Thanks." Oz looked down at his drawing and nodded, satisfied. "I dabble."

In the front of the room, the teacher stood up.

"All right everyone. Today, we continue our section on American Poets." she instructed. Everyone pulled a text out of their book bags and when she noticed that Sam lacked a book, the teacher brought a text over to him.

She placed it on his desk and said, "I am Ms. Calendar, you must be Sam Winchester, I heard that you were going to be in my class. I am not the usual English teacher, I am just filling in until they can fill this position."

Sam opened his book.

Ms. Calendar walked to the front of the room.

"Today's first poem is by e. e. cummings – one of the greatest American poets. Who would like to begin to read the first poem on the page? Oz? Just the first two lines please."

Oz started reading the poem.

"somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

any experience, your eyes have their silence:"

_Your eyes have their silence. _

The line kept repeating in his mind and immediately he had an image of a pair of expressive green eyes on a heart shaped face. For the first time, Sam hardly paid attention as the kids in the class read and discussed the lines of the poem. Luckily, the teacher had not called upon him and, for that, Sam was grateful. He hated to be caught unprepared. When the bell rang to signal the end of class, Sam made a mental note to study the poem that night.

After class, Sam stood and stretched. Oz stood up and looked hopefully at Sam. "Do you sing?"

Sam shook his head.

"That's too bad," his tone was regretful "the band I am in is playing our first gig - more of a practice really since we are not getting paid. Steve Simmons is having a party and we found out our singer, Boyd, has mono. So now we need a singer."

"What's your band's name?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. That's another thing – we don't have a name yet either."

"So, to sum things up - Your nameless band is having a practice/gig on Saturday and you need to find a singer?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Oz said.

"You could go all 'Art of Noise' and do mostly instrumental stuff." Sam suggested.

"I think we could do a little 'Peter Gunn'," Oz named the band's most famous song and nodded as he considered the idea "but then there is the other thing..."

"Other thing?" Sam prompted.

"Yeah, we kinda suck." Oz said with a grin that showed Sam he wasn't bothered by his declaration. "The upside is we suck less than we did three practices ago."

Helplessly, Sam laughed and Oz chuckled.

"Dude, I am so there! Tell me how I can get to Steve's."

Oz gave him directions.

"We are having a band meeting tonight and I am going to make sure we name ourselves," Oz said, as they were walking out of class, "I just wish we could meet somewhere other than my Aunt Alice's; her garage is perfect, but she records movies from HBO and then watches them after she gets home from work. Sometimes, we have to wait until she is finished watching her movie before she lets us practice," Oz shrugged "but it's a space where we _can_ practice, so I can't complain too much."

"Good luck, Dude." Sam and Oz went off in separate directions.

* * *

When Buffy walked into the Library after her last class of the day, she wasn't surprised to find Sam seated at one of the tables, a text book held in one hand and a pen in the other as he alternately read a passage then wrote something onto the paper in front of him.

She walked over to the table about to dump her text books on it when she glanced at the clock and noted that she had about half an hour before she would need to get ready for training. Giles always liked to wait until the school was mostly empty and, typically, she would use this time to chatter with Willow or Xander, however, today both of her friends were otherwise occupied.

She realized that she was happy that only Sam would be here to watch her train with Giles.

She pulled out her math book, slid into the chair across from Sam and began to work through her homework assignment.

The longer she sat at the table across from Sam, the more she felt her body begin to relax. The two students sat quietly, the only sounds were the scratching of pencils on paper, the flipping of pages and the occasional shout of laughter from the halls as they slowly emptied.

From his office, Giles smiled at the rare sight of a relaxed Buffy seated at the table. Normally, when she worked on her homework, she alternately chattered, sighed, fidgeted and grumbled about the tasks. Yet today, she was still, focused and relaxed.

Her Math assignment complete, she moved on to her US history assignment: "Create a sound argument for gun rights". She was all for Second Amendment rights, as long as they pertained to bearing arms in the forms of stakes, axes, staves and bows. However, this assignment pertained specifically to guns and she struggled with this assignment - she disliked guns, thought they were ugly and lacked…style.

If she wanted something she could just point and shoot with, then she would much rather use something with more panache…like the crossbow.

Dutifully, she listed the pros and cons of her argument. When she was finished, she chewed the bottom of her lip unhappy with the quality of her work. She lacked both inspiration and motivation, a sure indication that she would not do well in this assignment.

As Giles walked into the room, she hid a smile at the sight he presented; he looked like he had created a new sport that was a combination of football, hockey and baseball. He had padded his arms and legs, carried large thick gloves similar to baseball gloves over his forearm and completed his ensemble with a goalie mask that perched on the top of his head. In his hands, he carried two thick books.

It was her signal to pack up.

She closed her books and stacked them. While she moved, she began to tilt her head from side to side, the first of many exercises she used to stretch her muscles.

Sam looked up from his books and watched as Buffy began to stretch her arms. One hand pushed the elbow of an outstretched arm towards her chest as she went into a cage along a wall in the library and, when she walked back out carrying a black duffel bag.

"I'm going to get changed, Giles, I'll be right back." She walked out the library doors.

Giles put the books and gloves on the table. First he opened one book then pushed the other toward Sam. Intrigued, Sam opened the book and read the first few words that were written on the inside cover. It was an address. Uncertainly, he looked up at Giles, his face asking a silent question. Giles nodded.

"You can borrow any of my books for as long as you want. If you haven't finished and it is time for you to leave, take any books with you. When you are finished, then you can just mail it back to me."

Sam looked down at the book and nodded.

"Thank you," he said, "I will return it as soon as I am finished with it." It wouldn't be breaking his father's rule exactly, he thought to himself and immediately felt guilty. He made a vow to make sure he read the book as soon as possible.

"Keep it for as long as you want, Sam. I just thought it would answer some questions you had. My father gave this to me, when I was your age. I was not to begin my formal Watcher training for several more years, but my father was anxious to share his legacy with me. This is my journal from the training I had with him."

Buffy strode back into the Library and slide her bag across the polished floor into the big metal cage; she sported the same outfit of sweat pants and tank top that Sam remembered from his first meeting with her. Starting with her head, she systematically stretched every major muscle group in her body and, as she did her final stretch, Giles walked and stood in front of Buffy. Giles lowered his goalie mask over his face while she stood still while she waited for a signal from the Watcher.

Alert, Sam closed the book on the table and sat up, his eyes on the Watcher and Slayer.

Giles looked at Buffy and spoke, "No weapons today, just a simple exercise in combat."

Abruptly, he shoved the Slayer backwards. One of his feet had hooked behind hers, but instead of falling, she rolled backwards into a handstand and flipped onto her feet.

"So it is one of those fights where you don't fair?" Buffy chuckled.

"Correct. You can never assume one will fight fair, Buffy." Giles picked up a staff and swung it behind his back.

"So, you can use weapons, but I can't?"

Giles paused. "YOU are the weapon Buffy. Never forget that. In every fight, use every resource that is available to you, but always remember, you are a weapon unlike any other." Quickly, Giles tripped her again with his staff.

Sam watched the duo as they worked; Giles used every trick to knock her off of her feet while the blonde Slayer evaded and disarmed her Watcher. After he grabbed another weapon off of a nearby chair, Sam noticed that there were other weapons placed all over the room. Once she disarmed him, he would work his way to another weapon. She made no effort to get a weapon for her own defense.

After fifteen minutes, while Giles' breaths became more audible form the exertion, Sam realized that this was not a workout for the Slayer, instead, it was more of a lesson. As Giles had intended, she fought with no weapon other than her hands and deflected or evaded every blow that Giles dealt. Giles did not hold back, each attempt was made with the full force of his strength.

It did not take long for Sam to realize that the opposite was true with Buffy. He was positive that she held back from Giles. As he watched them attack and defend, Sam wondered what was more difficult for her – an all-out attack or holding back.

After another few minutes, Giles held up his hand. She stopped.

"Water." Giles panted. Tiredly, he waved his hand at her. "Carry on."

Buffy looked around the room. When she spied a staff, she picked it up and looked at Sam, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Bored yet?" she asked Sam as she expertly twirled the staff. Incredulous, Sam looked at her and slowly shook his head.

"Do you trust me?" She asked.

_Trust no one_… as the Winchester rule echoed through his head Sam realized that, for the first time, he trusted someone outside of his family and Bobby…someone he hardly knew. He nodded.

She walked toward Sam and held out her hand. His palm slowly slid onto hers, her hand felt small and delicate as his fingers clasped around her. Then, it happened. _Again_.

_It's happening again_. She thought as she pulled him toward the center of the room. _What is that?_

"Don't move," she cautioned "if you stay very still, you won't get hurt. Trust me." He nodded. Her palm tingled and reluctantly, she let go and backed away from Sam.

"Are you sure?" she asked him.

For the first time, Sam spoke. "I trust you."

As he slowly drew in a deep breath, she raised the staff and started to spin it. The movement made the air whistle and move around him as it sliced through the air. She spun the staff around her body and it spun faster and faster.

With no warning, she sprinted towards him; the staff raised high and swung towards his head.

It took every Winchester bone and nerve in his body to resist flinching as the staff stopped mere inches from his temple. When she continued, he looked ahead as she moved all around him. She flipped, she rolled and she attacked him with the staff-sometimes from the front, sometimes from the side and a couple of times she attacked from behind but never once did she allow the staff to hit him.

He did not move. When she was in his direct line of vision, he couldn't help but look at her, at the fine sheen of perspiration covered her body. He knew the only time she held back was when she stopped the staff from killing him.

Gradually, she started to slow her attacks. She flipped one last time, landed in front of him, and planted the staff on the floor.

She looked at Sam.

"Thank you for that. I can't do that with Willow or Xander; they trust me, but they wouldn't have the ability to stand still."

Sam relaxed his body and looked at the Slayer. He tried not to think about her body covered was with sweat, how her hand had felt in his earlier or what she would do if he grabbed her and-

Once again Sam stopped his thoughts.

"Can you teach me that?" he asked her.

"I don't think I can teach you that" she gave a small, self-conscious laugh "but I can teach you the basics with the staff."

Sam reached out his hand to her arm. Slowly, his hand slid down to her hand, over her fingers and grasped the staff. They looked at each other, his eyes had the same question that she thought showed in hers. Then he stepped back. He began to spin the staff, easily passing it back and forth between his hands.

"I know the basics."

Buffy grinned again and laughed then tilted her palm face up and beckoned toward him.

"Well, c'mon then." she raised a challenging eyebrow. "Show me what you got, Winchester."

Sam took a breath and hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself.

* * *

_He didn't bother with a human meat suit this time. He directed his essence below ground, through the tunnels and, because he still needed a body, he pushed into the vampire nearest to The Master._

_The Master stood before him, on the other side of the veil and greeted him with a delighted smile, instantly recognizing his unique yellow eyes._

_"Old friend…our time is near!" The Master exclaimed jovially._

_"The plan is still in effect?" He asked the elder vampire carefully. He was not afraid of him, but he didn't want to listen to the Master go on a whining rant if things were…awry._

_"You doubt me, old friend?" The vampire pouted._

_He sighed. He decided to be spiteful and put the vampire in his place – he was, after all was said and done, just a vampire._

_"Tell me about the Harvest. According to Father's time-line, we are behind schedule." He was rewarded when the Master paled._

* * *

I seem to have lost my beta...any volunteers?

Stay Tuned…


	7. Chapter Five - I'll Show You Mine

**A/N: **Reminder: This fic takes place circa 1997. Thank you to my betas Tametiger and Happypancreas.

**Chapter 5**

**I'll show you mine, You show me yours**

The morning sunlight shone through Buffy's window. With her eyes closed, she stretched in her bed until she reluctantly rolled to her side and squinted at the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. Ugh, it was half past "Way Too Early" so she rolled over and closed her eyes.

Sleep.

It was Saturday morning and she refused to get up early on a Saturday. She had been out patrolling the night before and then she had run into Angel. As she recalled the events of the evening before, she groaned, rolled over on to her back and looked at her bedroom ceiling.

Angel's voice echoed in her head.

"_I just don't get it, Buffy…_" he had said.

Yeah, well, neither did she.

Besides, Angel was wrong!

Since sleep proved to be elusive, she decided that she would have to do something else to keep her mind off of the previous evening's argument.

Decisively, she rose from bed, quickly remade it then she went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth and hair. Once she returned to her room, she dressed in a pair of her favorite sweats and tank top. She put on a pullover jacket, grabbed her Disc Man and headed downstairs.

Upstairs, she heard the muted sounds of her mom moving around in her room. Quickly, she scribbled a note about where she was going so her mom wouldn't worry then walked into the living room and flipped through her mom's CD collection. In the end, she selected one of her mom's favorites, slipped the disk out of its case and into her Disk Man.

Stepping outside, she put on her headphones and smiled as Bono sang "Pride". Turning left, she started to warm up her muscles as she walked to a nearby park only a short distance from her house.

Once she arrived at the park, she found her favorite spot to sit upon the ground and began to stretch her legs. There were few people in the park this early in the morning, which meant that there would be less of a chance of her running into anyone when she reached her clearing.

After fifteen minutes of stretching, satisfied that she had done a proper warm up, she was ready to go. After she secured the CD player around her waist, she turned up the volume and replayed the disc then jogged towards the trees. At the furthest edge of the park's soccer field, she turned onto an overgrown path.

As she jogged into an increasingly wooded area, the path narrowed. When the terrain changed, she increased her speed as she ran uphill.

Just when it looked as if the path had reached a dead end, she slowed her pace and pushed through the bush.

She had arrived at her clearing.

She jogged across the clearing until she reached a large tree at the end, then she stopped and bent down at the base of the tree. Reaching into its base, her hand rooted around pulled out a few items - two disposable water bottles and a rectangular box.

Unscrewing the lid of one of the water bottles, she quickly drained its contents as she glanced hopefully around the clearing and was rewarded by the sight of some thick branches on the ground. After she gathered some sturdy branches, each approximately five feet in length and the diameter of a half-dollar coin, she laid them on the ground next to the tree.

Opening the box, she ignored the small axe that was in a zip lock baggie and instead picked up a different baggie. She opened it and removed the old switchblade that was inside. Picking up the closest branch, Buffy used the blade to scrape off the bark. When she had scraped all five branches, Buffy inspected each homemade staff carefully. Satisfied, she picked them up.

* * *

Sam realized he was at a dead end. He had high hopes when he found the path and realized it took him up hill. He was hoping for a space far enough away from Sunnydale where he could do some target practice without drawing attention. He was ready to turn around when he heard a repeated banging that sounded like a fight coming through the bushes. Cautiously, he moved some of the overgrowth apart with his hands.

He saw a clearing with a large tree at the far end and balanced on one long, thick, gnarled limb about twenty feet from the ground was a familiar figure.

Smiling, he walked through the overgrowth. His good mood immediately switched to concern then horror when he realized that Buffy was slipping and falling toward the ground and he began to run.

* * *

_This is going to hurt_, Buffy thought as she plummeted to the ground.

Thinking fast, she tucked herself into a ball and let her shoulder take the brunt of the impact. Rolling across the hard, uneven ground, Buffy ignored the sharp pain that was intensified when her shoulder hit an exposed root before she finished her roll and stood. She picked up the nearest of her handmade staffs and attacked the tree.

Sam slowed when he realized that she seemed unfazed by the fall. She had picked up a piece of wood from the ground, swung it over her head and against the tree's trunk.

Bits of wood flied as she repeatedly hit the tree with full force and he stopped walking, awed at the sight before him. If he had thought she was amazing a few days ago, when she swung the staff around him then he had been sadly mistaken. There were no words to describe this girl.

Amazing seemed woefully inadequate; beautiful, precise and deadly might be closer.

* * *

As she whirled around and shredded the last of the staff, she caught a glimpse of Sam. For a brief moment, she debated stopping and continued when she realized that she didn't mind if he watched. If it had been another person, she would have felt self-conscious. With Willow or Xander, she would have felt compelled to talk; with Angel, she would have felt like a silly girl, hoping to impress a boy; and with Giles, she would have been examining every move, looking for answers to his inevitable questions ("Why did you do this, instead of that?").

With Sam, Buffy felt different.

"_I just don't get it, Buffy_…" As they had this morning, Angel's words echoed through her mind and Buffy pushed the thought away. She grabbed another staff and used it to pole-vault herself into a flip.

She didn't want to think about Angel right now.

* * *

Sam dropped his back pack and reached into the pack to feel around for his knife, brushing aside the first aid kit and until the tips of his fingers touched the sheath. Finding his knife, he pulled it out of the sheath and then searched the ground for some good sized branches.

He stripped away the bark working quickly, keeping his eyes focused on Buffy and only looking down at his work occasionally. Once he had two staves completed, he picked one up and started to spin it around.

After shredding her last staff, Buffy stopped and turned and looked at Sam. She couldn't call him an expert at handling a staff, but he seemed competent when she recalled watching Sam swinging the staff a few days before in the library.

He started slow. Buffy was beginning to understand that Sam rarely hurried; each move was deliberate as he passed the staff back and forth from hand to hand in a basic figure eight action. She could feel the other teen's eyes upon her as she walked over to the second staff on the ground and bent down to pick up a staff.

Standing, she faced him and slowly walked backward until she was about twenty feet away. She began to mimic his actions and match his speed.

"_I just don't get it, Buffy_…" Angel's voice whispered and faded away as she looked at Sam and met his gaze.

Sam's staff began to spin faster, as did Buffy's. Slowly, she began to raise her arms, never slowing the spin of the staff while he did the same. She passed the staff over her shoulder and caught it behind her back with her other hand. Sam continued to mirror her actions with the same deliberate precision.

The pair faced each other and each took turns with basic moves, maintaining the same steady rhythm. Slowly, they began to walk toward each other as they spun, twirled and passed their staves. When they got close enough, they stopped, eyes locked on each other.

"It's really the most I can do." He ducked his head, flashed his dimples and chuckled self-consciously.

"You said, at the library, that you wanted to learn more. Did you mean it?" she asked.

"Yes. What do I do?"

"Attack." she commanded, softly. "As fast and as hard as you can."

Without hesitation, he sung the staff up and brought it down towards her head. He felt the impact run up his arms and into his shoulders when she blocked him. Sam paused.

"Not bad," she observed, lips curved into a smile, "Let's try again, but I want you to pivot around as you bring the staff up and bring the staff down as you come out of the pivot."

Over and over, he attacked with all his strength and she blocked him. Sometimes she corrected him "Try coming up on the left." and "You are leaving your right side vulnerable." Once she was satisfied with a particular move, then she would ask him to do something different.

If a particular attack proved clumsy, then she would show him.

"Try it like this."

He would concentrate on her demonstration, determined to successfully imitate at the next attempt and, each time the petite blonde teen complimented him or smiled approvingly, Sam felt his attraction grow.

~Sam & Buffy~

Sam was breathing heavy as he drank water from a bottle he had in his back pack. He pulled out two apples and tossed one to Buffy, then sat on the ground next to her.

"What is in the box?" Sam asked.

"A straight edged knife, one small axe and a few other small items I keep here. I store them in plastic bags so they don't rust and I hide the box here so I don't have to cart stuff back and forth between here and my home." Water bottle in hand, Buffy pointed to the base of the tree. It just looked like some overgrowth in front of the tree, but as Sam got a closer look, he saw that the overgrowth covered a large opening at the base of the tree.

"Every few weeks, I bring up some water bottles and keep them in there. I don't come out here every day, but it is nice to have a few things here if I need them." Buffy smiled, shrugging her shoulders.

"May I?" Sam gestured toward the box and she nodded her consent.

Sam pulled it closer to him and looked into the box. As she had mentioned, he saw the knife and axe. He picked up the knife and inspected it. It was old, the blade rusty and dull.

"You should keep a sharpener in here. Your knife could use it." Buffy laughed.

"I guess I should. Just lazy I guess."

Sam smiled, the teen-aged Slayer was the farthest thing from lazy.

Buffy turned away from him and stuck her hand into the base of the tree. "I think I have one more water bottle in here."

Sam looked at Buffy's shoulder and his eyes widened.

"Did I do that?"

"Do what?" Buffy asked.

"Your shoulder. Did I do that?"

Buffy craned her head trying to look at the back of her shoulder. She saw the edges of a bruise that was beginning to form.

"Oh that. Nope. That was all me, it happened when I slipped off the branch." She sighed, "It always hurts more when I slip; falling on purpose is a lot less painful." Buffy unscrewed the lid of her last bottle and shrugged. "But either way, it is good practice. On purpose or by accident, I can't let falling down stop me in the middle of a fight."

Slowly, he inspected Buffy as she tipped her head back and drank the water. Her hands held a multitude of cuts and slivers. Her shoulder had a massive bruise, surrounded by scrapes and scratches.

"Does it hurt?"

Buffy looked sideways at Sam.

"Always." She said, dryly. "I feel the pain, Sam, but I also ignore it because I know it won't last for long. I am a fast healer."

Feeling a little awkward, Buffy looked away from Sam and absently picked at a sliver of wood at the base of her thumb.

Sam pulled the box close to him and began to root through it. Knife, axe, stake…giving an exasperated sigh, he stood up and walked away.

She watched him and felt a clenching in her gut at the thought of him leaving.

He picked up his backpack and walked back over to the tree. He dropped the pack and squatted down and began pulling out items. She masked her relief.

Buffy watched as he pulled out a few things she recognized. Knife. Axe. A small plastic bag with matches and what looked like fuzz, couple of water bottles…_like Mary Poppins' carpetbag_ she thought and stifled the giggle that threatened to spill from her.

Intrigued by the fuzz, she snatched the baggie and inspected the contents. She opened the baggie and a familiar smell wafted out. She scrunched up her nose.

"Is that dryer lint?" She asked Sam, a giggle escaping her. Sam Winchester with dryer lint?

His deep chuckle joined hers. "Don't knock it. Dryer lint is a great fire starter, any Boy Scout could tell you that and is essential when hiking or walking in the woods. As is this." Sam pulled out a small black case.

Inside the case were numerous small items, a few of which he pulled out and one he held in his hands. She looked at the small tool and saw a flash of metal. She licked her lips apprehensively.

* * *

"Ow."

"You are such a baby." He chided her, amusement lighting up his hazel eyes. "I haven't even started…and stop moving around! I can't get it out if you are squirming around like that."

"Ow." Buffy flinched and pulled her hand away. "This is not a good idea."

Sam looked at her. "Are you serious? C'mon. It won't hurt. I'll be gentle."

An amused snort from Sam when she flinched again as he brought the tweezers down to Buffy's hand.

"Don't tell me that The Slayer is afraid of a 'lil 'ole splinter. Now stop moving and then I can get it out."

Buffy bit her lip and looked away as he carefully started removing the splinters from her hands.

Once he was satisfied that he had removed all of the tiny slivers of wood, he cleaned the tweezers with rubbing alcohol. Next, he spilled some alcohol onto a cotton ball and started to dab at Buffy's hand, carefully cleaning away some of the blood and dirt from the cuts. Then, as if she were a small child, he picked up Buffy's hand and brought it close to his mouth and blew softly onto her hand.

With a sinking feeling, Buffy realized that Angel might be right after all. Gently, she tugged her hand from Sam's.

"What else do you got in there?" She asked lightly, as she pulled his pack onto her lap.

* * *

"…how could you say that? It is not a good reason!"

"It is so - they are ugly. That's why!" Buffy picked up a stick and pushed the black metal object towards Sam.

"Ridiculous." he shook his head.

"I don't like them. I would never want to…" she stopped and shuddered.

Sam stopped and started to laugh, she glowered.

"This is funny because…?"

"You. _You_ are the master of bows, swords, staves, stakes…" he started to laugh harder, "but I -haha- just realized that…you...(he took a deep breath and smirked) …have probably never used one."

Buffy looked at Sam indignantly.

"Why? I don't need to use one. I am 'my greatest weapon'." Buffy said tartly, using finger quotes as she repeated Giles' words from earlier that week. "There would never be a reason to use…_that_."

"You can say what it is Buffy. It's a gun. G-u-n." Sam smirked at her and, once again, she nudged the weapon with her stick.

"Still don't need to use one," she grumbled, under her breath and he snorted.

"I was right. You have never used a gun! Oh shit!" He started laughing again. "You probably couldn't shoot anything if you did."

"I'll have you know that I can learn anything and do anything." She bristled, trying to maintain a sense of dignity. It was not easy, given that Sam was laughing so hard that tears were starting to come out of his eyes.

"Guns are a little different, Buffy." He said, trying to get control of his laughter.

Buffy looked down at the gun on the ground doubtfully and poked it with a stick causing Sam to start laughing again.

"You can't (gasp) even pick it up! Buffy, The Slayer, can't ...use a simple gun. Omigod!"

Irritated, Buffy wrinkled her nose as her fingers picked up the gun; she straightened out her arm and pointed the gun towards the tree that was about ten feet away, closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

And squeezed.

She opened her eyes, looked at the gun and squeezed again. Sam roared with laughter, gasping, he managed to squeak out one word.

"Sss..afety! Hahahahah…"

Once Sam got himself under control – where outbursts of laughter became restrained snorts – he showed her the basics of handling a gun. Patiently, he explained the mechanics of the weapon.

Much to her chagrin, it was not as simple as "point and shoot".

First, he showed her how to take apart the gun, described the functions of each piece and lectured her about keeping a gun clean. Once he put the gun together, he took it apart again and laid each piece out. Then, he looked at her expectantly and waved his hand toward the pieces.

"Oh no! You were just going to show me how to shoot. I don't have to know how to assemble the gun in order to shoot one."

"Buffy, it is like learning how to use any weapon. You need to know basics before you can use it effectively." He said reasonably. "If I have never used a staff before, would you have tried to teach me different attack moves?"

She knew he made sense. Hesitantly, she picked up the large piece laid out before her.

"Okay. This is …uh..the grip. And it connects…" she hated the uncertainty in her voice and resolved to master the weapon – no matter how much she disliked it. She continued to label the parts of the gun, grateful for Sam's patient guidance when she forgot or had troubles.

After he made her take apart and reassemble the gun a few times, he decided that she was ready to try shooting. He reached into his pack and pulled out a few targets and tacked them on to a few different trees. Buffy counted out eight targets total. He called her over and showed her how to hold the gun and use the sight.

The gun didn't feel quite so alien to Buffy anymore. In fact, she was getting used to the solid weight of it in her hands; she still didn't like it, but she didn't hate it either. She continued to listen to Sam but when he started talking about wind and drift, she decided she was ready.

"Okay. Well, I think I got it now. Step back and I am going to show you how a Slayer shoots."

"Uh…Buffy," Sam began, pointing to the gun, "I think you should-"

"I got it Sam. I can do this."

Sam stood back and put up his hands in surrender.

"Okay, Slayer, show me how it's done." His eyes sparkled at her and she had the impression that he was holding back a yet another snicker. Spying a target on the tree about twenty feet away, Buffy raised her arm, closed an eye and looked through the sight. Boy, she couldn't wait to see his face when she hit the bulls-eye.

She pulled the trigger.

She heard Sam make muffled sound behind her and felt the heat of a flush work her way up her neck.

"Stupid safety." she muttered.

* * *

"Okay, it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be." Buffy admitted, somewhat embarrassed, as Sam started removing targets from the trees after an hour of target practice.

"You actually did well Buffy. It took me a lot longer than an hour before I could hit the corner of a target."

"Really?" Buffy perked up.

"It takes practice, that's all."

"Well, I don't think I am going to do any more practicing," already her resolve to master the weapon had faded. She knew enough now, she figured. "I can shoot but it's not like I will ever…"

"That is not the point!" Sam interrupted. "Why bother with any of it? Why bother to learn how to use a broadsword? How many vampires walk around carrying them? Why bother to learn how to use a rapier? A dirk? Crossbow?"

"It is not the same, Sam. Giles has me learn all kinds of weaponry so that…" she trailed off.

Sam crossed his arms and looked at her.

"Precision. Discipline. Tactics. Versatility." She said the words, almost to herself.

"Exactly." Sam said. "You may never have to use a gun in battle, but you should still know how to use it. Respect the weapon, Buffy. You don't have to love using one, or even like it, but you should still respect it. And one day, it could give you an edge over your opponent."

Sam went to take down another target. A thought occurred to Buffy.

"Were you coming up here to shoot? You have the gun and these targets…"

Sam nodded. "Yes. I promised my dad that I wouldn't let up on my training. He is always telling me about how important it is to practice."

"Can I watch?" Buffy asked.

"We have been here a while, shouldn't you be heading back? Don't you have a bo-…umm…- someone who will be worried if you don't get back?"

She considered his words. "Well, I am kind of hungry. How 'bout just a quick one?"

Sam glanced around the clearing, and then shrugged.

"There are still five targets left, quick as you can, randomly point to each one," he instructed, "then, move away about twenty feet."

Sam watched as Buffy quickly pointed to each of the five targets. He didn't move his head or eyes as she pointed out the targets, he only stared at her until she sprinted away as he had requested. As soon as he determined she was safely out of range, he fired five quick shots, one at each target in the same order she pointed them out.

After Sam removed the last target, Buffy looked them over. There was a small hole in the middle of the bulls-eye on each of the last five targets.

Quickly, the pair finished tidying up the clearing. Buffy put her tools back into their individual baggies then into her box and slid the box back under the tree; Sam collected empty water bottles along with the rest of his items and put them into his pack.

Together, they left and, although neither one spoke, the silence was comfortable. As they got closer to the park, they began to hear sounds of urban life - the squeal of children chasing a ball, the honking of a car horn and, somewhere in the distance, a siren from an ambulance.

Before she knew it, they were walking down her street and although she knew that she should be saying goodbye, she didn't want to.

"Sam? Are you hungry? I bet my mom made some food and you are welcome to come in for lunch, if you want."

Before he could decline, his stomach growled loudly and they both chuckled.

* * *

The sky had been darkn for an hour when Angel stood outside of the Summers' home and listened to the laughter coming from within. He was on his way over to knock on Buffy's window to see if she wanted to patrol and wanted to apologize to her for the way he ended things with her the night before.

The front door to the house opened. He had been near the house long enough to know who was walking out. He clenched his hands and he stepped back, further into the shadows; able to hear every word that was said and see as clearly as if he were standing on the porch with them.

"Thank you again, Ms. Summers. The lasagna was delicious."

"It was my pleasure Sam. I am glad you enjoyed it."

Ms. Summer's went back into the house and Buffy stood on the porch with Sam.

"I had a good time, Buffy. Thanks for inviting me earlier."

"Really? I thought you would think the games were a little lame."

"Are you kidding? I love games. I was always trying to get my brother to play games with me on long road trips when we were kids. Plus – well, I probably shouldn't tell you this- but Boggle is my favorite. I used to study dictionaries just so I could beat my brother."

Buffy laughed. "Boggle? Hmm…no wonder you knew so many words with the letter 'X'. I think I could say that you had an unfair advantage. In fact, I think I should have won!" she declared.

"Nope. I won fair and square!" He countered as he looked at his watch then said, clearly reluctant, "I should get going."

Angel watched as Buffy and Sam faced each other in the dark.

"Okay. I guess I will see you at school then."

Sam made no move to leave. He picked up Buffy's hand and examined it in the glow of the porch light.

"Yep." He remarked after a thorough inspection, "You are a fast healer."

Angel felt the sting of disappointment as he noticed that Buffy didn't pull her hand away.

Sam leaned over and brought his face close to Buffy.

"Buffy?" he asked "Is there- someone? A guy I mean?"

She was quiet for a moment as his face inched closer to hers. Angel watched as Buffy leaned toward Sam.

Then she stopped, a small sigh escaped her lips. "Yes. There is, well kinda, someone."

"Oh." Angel heard the disappointment in the teen's voice as he stood up.

"Things are a little – complicated."

"I see." Sam stepped back.

"Sam –"

"I have to go Buffy. My dad has probably been calling the motel for the last couple of hours. I'll see you later.

Angel watched as Buffy went back into the house, her words echoed in his ears.

_Kinda Someone_. He was 'kinda someone'. She didn't label him as her boyfriend and he knew it was his own fault.

He remembered the fight with Buffy they had the evening before.

_"…is this guy, Buffy? I mean the way you're talking about him-"_

_"What?"_

_"You act like you-"_

_"Like I what, Angel?"_

_"Well, you tell me that you want me to take you on dates and you want to call me your-"_

_"Boyfriend. It's a word Angel. Boy-friend. Two syllables. You say that you care for me-"_

_"You know I do."_

_"Well then, I don't understand the problem. Don't you want to be my boyfriend?" Buffy asked, tears filling up in her eyes._

_"It is not that easy. I am older-wa-ay older. I am a Vamp-"_

_"Don't you dare use that excuse anymore! I told you, I don't care about that."_

_"Well you should care!"_

_Buffy was quiet for a moment. "So is this it then? We won't see each other anymore?"_

_"You know that is not what I mean, Buffy." Angel snapped, frustration clear in his voice._

_"Then why?"_

_"Buffy, I just think that, you don't feel the same way about me as you think you-"_

_"Seriously?" She groaned in disbelief. "This again? I am 'too young' to know what I want? And what way do you feel about me Angel? What? 'Cause you sure as hell haven't shown me that you want any of this." Buffy waved her hand between the both of them._

_Angel tried to find the words to explain._

_"It's just that you say you want me to go-on dates with me…" Buffy prompted._

_"Yes. But then there is this other guy…"_

_"What other guy? Do you mean Sam? I have known him barely four days Angel. You can't tell me that you are actually-"_

_"Yes. I can." Angel said quietly. "I am, Buffy. I am jealous." Angel stood there, feeling a little ridiculous. Jealous of a boy, when he was more than two centuries old!_

_"You have nothing to be jealous about. He is just a guy I know. A friend even. Like Xander. You aren't jealous of Xander, are you?" Angel couldn't hold back the scoff._

_Buffy smiled. "See. A friend: that is all he is?"_

_Angel looked at her. Then he shook his head. "I think you are wrong, Buffy. I have seen the two of you. There is something there."_

_"You are wrong. How can you say that? You know me, there is only you."_

_Angel sighed. "A week ago, I wouldn't have doubted it. But I saw you at the library on Tuesday and-"_

_"What? When were you at the Library? I didn't see you."_

_"I came up through the basement, the sun hadn't set yet. I was coming to talk to you and Giles about something. I saw you with him. He was touching your arm and-"_

_"That? Nothing happened."_

_"I think there is something there Buffy. And I don't understand why you won't admit it. I just don't get it, Buffy."_

_"You. Are. Wrong. We are just friends. I barely know the guy."_

_Angel stepped back. "I saw the look on both of your faces. There was nothing 'friendly' about it" He said coldly. "I've got to go, I will talk to you later Buffy."_

The light in Buffy's bedroom came on and Angel looked up. Before he could change his mind, he sprinted over to the house and leapt quietly onto the roof. Quietly, he tapped on Buffy's window. She turned and looked at him, then walked over and opened her window.

"I was a jerk."

"Yes, you were."

"I just wanted to say I was sorry."

Without expecting a response, Angel turned to leave but stopped when she reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him back toward her as she leaned forward and kissed him.

He knew what she was doing and that she was doing for all of the wrong reasons, but he let her kiss him anyway.

After a moment, she pulled back, a small, content smile on her face.

"See. Only you can make me feel this way."

Angel looked into her eyes and his heart sank as he studied her expression. Wordlessly, he pulled her toward him, closed his eyes when she sighed happily and buried the frustration that threatened to explode from him.

When Buffy looked at him, she had the look of a young lady experiencing her first love but, earlier that night, when she was talking with Sam her face showed a very different look and, until tonight, he had never seen this look on her face.

Because when she looked at Sam- there was nothing young or girlish in her gaze.

Strange, how one good deed committed over a decade ago could have such a profound effect on his present.

* * *

_He was in Africa when he felt it again. Instead of a slow drain, this time the connection deteriorated with a speed that baffled him. He focused his attention on the connection and, just to be safe, he tested his other tethers attached to all of the other contenders yet each tether held strong._

_It was only Sam's that was losing its grasp._

_The mystic before him grasped his (meat-suits) hand, trying to get his attention. "The key..." he began._

_But he didn't listen. Damn the mystics! He had no time for talks of keys and locks. THIS was more important - he must have missed something in Sunnydale and now he needed to go back._

Stay Tuned…


	8. Interlude Two

**Interlude Two**

Pastor Jim Murphy

C/o Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church

Blue Earth, MN

Pastor Jim,

Last night, I spoke to Dad and Dean. Dean told me that your hunch was right on the money about the spirit having an identical twin. Sure enough, the twin was buried nearby and wore a locket that contained hair. If they hadn't found out about the twin last night, the spirit might have taken yet another life. We owe you one.

Dean passed along the message. Chess is the new game? Since you picked the game, I select white and get the first move.

"nf3"

Also, I am forwarding an envelope to you for Caleb. Dad mentioned the accident and how he is staying with you while his leg heals. Please pass along to him.

Thank you.

Sam

* * *

Caleb Stuart

C/o Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church

Blue Earth, MN

Caleb,

I need your professional opinion. It is not for me, but for a friend. I am looking for a club she could join and what type of equipment is best suited for small hands. Trust me, when I say she can hold her own.

Sunnydale California.

Recommendations?

Please do not send reply through the usual channels, Dad and I are actually getting along right now bjut I don't know if I can explain this to him without fighting. You know how he can get.

Staying at Sunnydale Motor Inn. I will check the message boards.

Sam

* * *

Bobby Singer

Singer Auto Salvage

Sioux Falls, SD

Bobby,

Enclosed is some money. Can you do me a favor and open a post office box in Sioux Falls? Your place is the closest thing to a home I have ever known and I want to have a place where mail can go. Don't fall off your comfy chair or anything, but I would like the box opened under my name. All mail will be legitimate and no scams. I can always count on a trip through Sioux Falls at least three times a year, so collecting the mail will not be a problem.

I hate to put you in this position, but …can we keep this between us? Dean will know, but I don't think Dad would understand. If you are uncomfortable with this, I understand and forget I asked. Just…don't tell my Dad, okay?

It's just…I just want something that is just for me.

Sam

* * *

Stay tuned...


	9. Chapter Six - The Butterfly Effect

**A/N: **Let's backtrack for a moment and travel back in time, shall we? This chapter takes place circ 1986.

Thank you to my beta HappyPancreas.

**Chapter 6**

**The Butterfly Effect**

_**Some time ago, in a state not so far away…**_

Angel was pissed.

It was his own damn fault; he shouldn't have been playing with his food, a habit which was a carryover from Angelus, his soulless alter ego. Hadn't he learned his lesson yet? Once his soul had been cursed back into him, he lost his inclination for torture and hunting of the human variety. These days, Angel left the humans alone and saved his hunting for whatever wildlife he could find.

The small part of Angelus that remained enjoyed this.

The evening was cold and damp with a thin layer of frost lay upon the ground like a blanket. The autumn weather in the Rockies was deceptive as the temperature that day had been a pleasant seventy-four degrees, according to local weather report Angel heard on the car radio on his drive out to the range; the night, however, had temperatures in the low thirty's and Angel supposed the residents of the nearby town had seen its last mild-temperature day.

Winter was arriving early.

As a vampire, Angel was immune to the cold.

He had spent the better part of the evening stalking a particularly cunning and cautious mountain lion. As the superior predator, he could have ended the hunt as soon as he picked up the cougar's trail, but preferred instead to prolong the hunt; he enjoyed his forays into the Rocky Mountains and liked for it to last as long as possible.

Cougar wasn't tasty, but it filled him up enough to keep the edge off for at least a week while he survived on pig's blood from the butcher. If fresh animal blood was not desirable, then day-old blood was even less so; nothing, however, could compare to the real deal – human blood, which Angel hadn't touched in close to a two decades.

Which brought his thoughts back to his prey – his noticeably absent prey thanks to the two Wendigo that were at this moment trekking east.

On any other day, the wildcat would have good reason to be spooked enough to take flight. Normally, the cannibalistic Wendigo were fast and surefooted, unmatched in their viciousness. Tonight, however, the their footsteps stumbled and crashed through the mountain forest and a chilly wind had carried the fetid stench of the creatures to Angel.

A stench that almost but not quite masked the other, not so unpleasant aroma.

Blood

Angel tilted his head and inhaled the faint traces of the coppery fragrance of life, an indication that the Wendigo were injured. He smiled and thought that perhaps the night wasn't a waste after all. Their foul flavor rated slightly below the blood of rats, if not more rancid but the blood smelled deceptively delicious and sang a siren's song that appealed to the demon inside him.

His inner demon snarled and the fangs broke through his gums.

He knew the blood would taste unpleasant yet it didn't stop his craving, but it would be enough to get him through the day until nightfall. Besides, the bastards needed to pay for ruining his dinner.

Tomorrow, Angel vowed, he would get the cougar. Compared to Wendigo, the feline would taste like fine champagne.

Decision made, Angel turned east to track his new target.

It took him only minutes to intersect with the Wendigo. As he got closer, Angel realized that his senses had been mistaken. Yes, there were two creatures and yes, they were both injured but they were not alone. Each of the foul, unkempt creatures also carried a burden.

Food.

Wendigo were insatiable killers and normally fed from wildlife, stranded campers and hikers.

Seeing firsthand how injured the carnivorous creatures were, Angel realized that tonight, a victim had fought back. One Wendigo carried a large burden, an unconscious man; the other carried a much smaller burden, a young child approximately four or five years old, also unconscious.

The Wendigo trudged east, occasionally veering sideways and bumping carelessly into the trees-apparently the man made quite an impact on the Wendigo before being knocked unconscious. The reason, Angel decided, was the child. The man had been protecting the child.

Over the last few decades, Angel had avoided people as much as possible. Yet, although humans were not to be trusted, a lesson that he had learned more than once, his conscience (his _soul_) would not allow him to abandon the humans and leave them to die.

Once in a while an opportunity arose that allowed Angel to compensate for his tumultuous past and he could choose to do the right thing. Sometimes, he was successful, other times it came back to bite him on the ass.

Angel hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

He followed the Wendigo to a cavern in the foothills of the mountain just a few miles away. The cave was old and shallow but Angel could tell that the Wendigo had only just taken up residence. One glance at the sky and he knew he had to move quickly, dawn would arrive soon and he needed to distract the creatures.

The crack of the branch under his foot echoed like a gunshot in the cold still night and provided a suitable diversion. Inside the cave, the creatures tensed and paused.

The largest, and least injured of the two, emerged from the mouth of the cave. There was a snarl followed by the snap of a neck being broken, then the night was still and calm. The remaining Wendigo, smelling blood, went outside.

Snap. Crackle. Pop.

Moments later, Angel entered the cave. Glancing around the pitch-black interior, his eyes had no problem seeing the cave clearly. The Wendigo had carried their dinner into the cave and dumped them unceremoniously on the hard, cold ground. There were a few skeletons laying around, picked clean by the greedy cannibals, but the cave still retained its earthy smell along with the smell of fresh, mouth-watering _human _blood.

Immediately, he decided that he couldn't leave the man and the boy. The cave might offer shelter from rain, but would not offer any protection from the cold and they would be dead in a few hours if he left them. If, however, Angel stayed, the cave would offer little protection from the sunlight and he would be burned to ash by noon.

He knew he needed to move the man and the boy; his only dilemma lay in how he would move both of them at once.

A rustling sound drew his attention back to the cave floor. The boy, having regained consciousness, appeared to be unharmed and blinked warily as he sat up.

Angel watched as the boy looked around, but it was too dark for the child to make out anything in the dark cave. His young eyes widened briefly in panic and his little hands clenched into fists but just when Angel thought the boy would become hysterical, he seemed to pull himself together. The child took a few deep breaths and felt the cave floor blindly until his hand bumped into the soft flannel of his unconscious companion's shirt. He grasped the shirt and pulled himself closer to the man's prone body. The little hands patted the man's arm and the boy whispered.

"Daddy?"

"He is hurt." Angel tried to speak quietly, unwilling to alarm the boy but still the child flinched and gave a startled gasp.

"We need to move, but I have to carry your dad. He is sleeping." Angel continued.

Angel knew the boy must be terrified, the child's eyes were wide and darted in all directions, the little heart hammered as if it would explode from his chest but his voice was clear, belied only by the faintest tremor.

"He will be okay? My Daddy will be okay." The first was a question, but the second was a confident statement. The boy believed it.

Angel tilted his head. The man's heartbeat wasn't as strong as before and his breathing sounded raspy, an indication that he was in danger of exposure.

"If we can move him to some better shelter, he will be okay, but we need to move fast. How are you feeling?"

"My daddy says I am very fast. I am okay, I am not scared." The boy whispered the last part as if to re-assure himself.

Angel regarded the boy. He was wearing a light jacket that offered some minimal protection from the cold, and more importantly, the dampness. If he didn't move the man and the boy soon, they would both be in danger.

"Okay kid. I am going to carry your dad and we are going to a cabin I saw earlier, it will give you both better shelter and we can build a fire to get you and your dad warmed up. Do you think you can walk three miles?"

The boy nodded. Angel remained skeptical, but he had to try. He reached down to pick up the man but drew his hand back immediately. The man was wearing a damp flannel shirt and no jacket. They had to hurry.

Angel picked up the man and hefted him over his shoulder. He started to walk out of the cave and felt the kid grab his hand tentatively. Angel looked down at the small boy whose face was turned toward the entrance of the cave, his face set with fierce determination.

"I'm ready" the boy said.

Together, they left the cave.

* * *

"Do stars really twinkle, Mister? 'Cause I see them stars up there and they don't look like they are twinkling at all. Why do people say that stars twinkle?"

It was the latest in a long line of "why" questions that the boy had asked since he and Angel had left the cave. At first the boy had been silent, but the silence had lasted only a few minutes. Then the boy had asked his first question.

Why is it so warm during the day and so cold at night?

Why did the sun go down?

Why did the moon change shapes?

Why did the trees look friendly during the day but spooky at night? ("not that I am scared, y'know." kid had hastily assured him.)

When it came to kids, Angel's experience was limited and guilt-ridden, reminded him of the many children he had orphaned when he had been Angelus and, as a result, he had kept his distance.

With this kid, however, Angel didn't have time to feel guilt.

He had to keep coming up with answers to all of the questions the boy asked and his answers must have satisfied the kid, because each time he answered the question the kid would think for a moment and then give a nod of agreement. Then he would ask another question.

They had arrived at the cabin just as the first rays of light were appearing in the sky. Angel deposited the man on to the floor of the cabin and directed the boy to stay put so he could gather some firewood. Cognizant of the approaching dawn, Angel returned outside to collect dead branches from the floor of the forest. Unfortunately, most were damp.

The people in the cabin needed the warmth provided by a fire, but if he couldn't find any dry wood, it would be a smoky one. Luckily, he discovered a woodpile around the back of the cabin and was able to pull dry wood from the bottom.

It took four trips with his arms full of wood and he would have made more, but he cut it close as it was. Each time he returned to the cabin, he was asked more questions.

Why did day take so long to start?

Wouldn't it be nice if there was a light switch for daytime?

If paper came from trees why did the wood take so long to catch fire?

This last question was asked as Angel had tried (unsuccessfully) to start a fire. After a few attempts, the flame finally caught and the wood began to burn.

Next, Angel turned his attention to the man on the floor. Glancing around the cabin, he spied an inner door that was hanging off one of it hinges. Angel pulled the door off and laid it out on the floor in front of the fire then carried the man over and put him on the make shift bed. He replaced the man's damp shirt with his own and hung it to dry.

At this point the boy was silent, his expression somber, as he tracked Angel's movements while he cared for the man.

Enough time had passed that the sun had risen in the sky and morning light was beginning to stream in through the windows. The cabin only had three windows and if Angel moved carefully, he would be able to avoid their burning rays.

The blood seeping from the wound on the man's leg was a different matter. He needed to look at the wound and see if it was in danger of infection, a task he had been dreading since he carried the man out of the cave.

Desperate, Angel searched for a distraction.

"Hey Kid - what other questions do you want to ask me?"

"In the song Yankee Doodle, is he calling the horse or the feather "macaroni"?"

As he answered the (never-ending) series of questions, Angel searched for something to clean the wound. He was about to give up when he spied the man's flannel shirt hanging near the fire. Quickly, he tore a thick strip from the bottom and turned his attention to the man's leg. Blood had seeped through the denim material.

Angel closed his eyes. Mistake. It was definitely a mistake. His inner demon fought to break free. It would be so easy to give in...

A growl rumbled in his throat. Guiltily, Angel looked at the kid, but he seemed unaware as he stood by the window looking outside.

As if from a distance, he could hear the kid asking another question.

"When does it stop being partly cloudy and start being partly sunny?"

Fangs broke through his gums and Angel's face changed. Then man on the floor opened his eyes.

* * *

The eyes, an exact match to the hazel eyes of the kid, were unfocused and glazed with pain. The man groaned and then grimaced.

"Sammy?" he whispered, hoarsely.

"He's fine. Lay still. Your leg is badly gouged and I am trying to clean it." Angel heard the tension in his voice and the man must have heard it too. Eyes glazed with pain, he searched Angel's face.

"Who are you? Sammy?" The first question was a whisper; the second question was a call for the boy.

The boy, Sammy, turned his head and raced over to his father.

"Daddy! You are okay." Sammy reassured his father, his little hand patted the older man's hand. "Mister brought us here."

The man grabbed Sammy's hand and the boy smiled at him. "You're okay? You are not hurt are you, son?"

Sammy shook his head.

"I woke up in a dark cave and you were hurt Daddy. Mister carried you here."

"Cave?" The man furrowed his brows as he tried to remember. A moment later, his eyes flew to Angel's in a panic. "Wendigo! They can track us..."

Angel shook his head and looked at Sammy as a silent warning to the boy's father.

"Sammy, can you go get some more wood for the fire. I put a stack just outside the door."

Glad to help, Sam nodded. As soon as he was far enough away, Angel leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"The Wendigo are dead. I think your boy slept through the whole thing. They tore up your leg a little though."

John shook his head. "No, you're are wrong. Wendigo don't die easily and they will track us." He fought a wave of pain and closed his eyes. "My son! We have to go."

"They are dead."

Again John shook his head. "They are strong..." He began.

"I'm stronger." Angel said grimly. The man opened his eyes in response to the tone in Angel's voice.

"What are you?" he asked, his voice faint.

"You don't want to know, but you and the kid are safe. I promise."

He passed out and Angel wasn't sure if the man heard his reassurance.

* * *

He could control his hunger.

He focused instead on quickly bandaging the man's wounds and distracting the kid or, perhaps more accurately, distracting himself by distracting the kid.

To his surprise, Angel liked the kid more with each passing second.

The man went in and out of consciousness. He seemed to sense something about Angel, but couldn't put his finger on what was bothering him.

Angel questioned the boy and discovered that they had gone camping together to celebrate Sammy's birthday. He discovered that Sammy had an older brother, but he was staying with an "Uncle Bobby" while Sammy and his father camped. Angel heard the guild in the kid's voice when he spoke about his brother. He was torn: obviously he longed for his brother, but was happy to have his father all to himself.

He questioned the kid about his father's background, but the kid didn't seem to know much. He told Angel that his father was a salesman who sold "stuff".

Given the man's knowledge about Wendigo's and how hard they were to kill, Angel had his own suspicions about the man's line of work. Angel needed to tread carefully. If he was a Hunter and the man suspected Angel's true nature, he would kill him first and not think twice.

The thought struck Angel that a hundred years ago, he would have done the same thing.

"Hypocrite!" He said out loud, mocking himself.

Sammy heard him. "What's a hypocrite?" He asked.

Angel explained the definition to the boy. The boy thought hard for a moment and looked at Angel.

"Mister, sometimes I say something ugly to my brother, but I feel good inside. Does that make me a hypocrite too?"

Angel chuckled.

The man opened his eyes again.

"Water." he said hoarsely.

Angel got up and walked over to the sink, careful to avoid the rays of sunlight that streamed through the windows, aware of the older man's eyes that followed him as he moved through the room and returned with water. He helped him sit up and held the glass to the man's lips and, after a few small sips, helped him lay back down.

"Sammy?"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Do you still have the present your Uncle Bobby gave you?"

Sammy nodded.

The man closed his eyes for a moment then opened them.

"Can you show it to me?" he asked.

Sammy nodded. He came forward and knelt beside his father. He pulled a chain out from under his shirt. Angel saw that there were three items on the chain. One of them was a silver cross.

The man looked over at Angel meaningfully. Angel nodded approvingly at the Hunter to let him know he received the message loud and clear. He leaned forward.

"Your son is safe. As soon as it's dark, I will go to the Ranger station and get help. Just a few more hours and you will be on your way."

Angel saw expressions of hope and disbelief cross the man's face before unconsciousness claimed him again.

Sammy looked at him.

"Mister," He began... Angel smiled.

* * *

Five hours later, Angel showed the ranger to the cabin. Angel had been reluctant to leave the boy alone in the cabin, but he couldn't take him with him. Instead, he ran as fast as he could. The Ranger was a man of experience with a well stocked station and, within minutes, they were loaded with supplies and on their way back to the cabin.

They had brought a stretcher for the man. As they carefully moved the man onto the stretcher, the kid threw him a thoughtful look. When his father was secured, he held out his small hand and Angel shook it.

"Thank you for taking care of my daddy, Mister." he said solemnly.

"Thank you for letting me take care of your daddy." Angel replied, a smile on his face.

He went over to the man who was conscious again. The man reached out a hand and Angel shook it. With surprising strength, he pulled Angel close.

"Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"A curse." Angel said honestly. "My name's Angel, I live in the town. Next time you come my way, look me up. I will buy you a drink and tell you about it."

"John Winchester. And I might just take you up on that one day."

* * *

Over the last twelve years, they crossed paths occasionally. While their relationship could never be classified as friendship, they did help each other out when the need arose. A few nights before, John had called him and asked him to keep an eye on his youngest son, Sam.

At the time, he did not hesitate to assure John he would watch over his son. However, as he watched Sam and Buffy grow closer together, he often thought back to that first meeting on the mountain. Inside, the snide voice that belonged to Angelus whispered one refrain. _You fool, you should have left him to die._

**A/N**: Feedback?


	10. Chapter Seven - Sunny DaysBronze Nights

**A/N: **Thank you to my beta HappyPancreas, who does a most wonderful job! Because she is awesome and fast, this chapter is my bonus gift to you all. Thank you for your reviews (both of them lol) and to all who alert and favorite this little fic.

**Chapter 7**

**Sunny days and Bronze Nights**

Her words echoed in his ears.

_"Yes. There is, well, kinda, someone."_

Sam should have known better – hell, he _did_ know better. He still couldn't believe that he had asked her that question. Even as he had stood on the porch, he could hear Dean's voice _("Don't do it man. Don't say it."_), but he ignored it and asked anyways, unable to help himself and effectively putting a dampener on one of the best days of his life. Not just the morning with Buffy, but the whole day; getting invited inside for lunch, meeting her mom, playing games, even watching as Joyce and Buffy made the dinner – Joyce reheating a lasagna that she had frozen from dinner the week before, Buffy making the salad – he loved every moment.

At one point, Buffy had pulled him aside and told him that she was sorry that her mom was being so lame.

_Lame_.

He had looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Buffy, your mom wanting to spend time with you and your friends could never be lame, it makes you lucky. I never knew my mom. You have no idea many times I wished I could have-" he stopped, his throat closing up.

Buffy reached out and touched his hand lightly. Sam closed his eyes and prayed that tears would not come.

"So, how are you at Boggle then?" she asked lightly, turning away.

Joyce poked her head into the living room.

"Did I hear someone say 'Boggle'?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and winked at Sam.

"Yes. Mom, would you like to play?"

Three games of Boggle later, he had been getting ready to leave when the phone rang. Buffy asked him to wait while she answered the phone. She was only gone for a minute, when she came back.

"That was Willow." She explained. "She was checking to see if I was going to The Bronze tomorrow."

"The Bronze?" Sam inquired.

"Yeah. It's a kind of nightclub but they will let in anyone who pays the cover charge. If you are a minor, you have to wear a bracelet so you can't buy alcohol. The music is really good though…" she trailed off then said, "You should come! You can get to know Willow and Xander- you met them the other day at school and," she said, her voice lowering, "they know about me too. The Slayer me I mean."

"I will try to go." Sam said.

"Good." Buffy replied.

As he walked to the door, Joyce came into the living room and noticed his imminent departure. remembering his manners, Sam turned to Joyce as he opened the door, "Thank you again, Ms. Summers. The lasagna was delicious."

Then he ruined it.

"Buffy?" he asked "Is there- someone? A guy I mean?"

She was quiet for a moment as Sam's face inched closer to hers.

Then she stopped. And sighed.

"Yes. There is, well kinda, someone."

On the walk back to the motel, Sam replayed the conversation in his head and wondered if he could have done things differently. He bet Dean would have known what to do. _("It's all the actions, dude - not the words."_) Yep, boyfriend or no boyfriend, Dean would not have hesitated to take Buffy into his arms and –

Was that the Impala?

Sam's steps faltered as he saw the familiar vehicle parked in front of his motel room as he walked across the dimly lit parking lot. His family was back – which usually meant one thing. It was time to leave.

His heart heavy, Sam opened the door.

…there he is!" Dean declared as he shot Sam his patented 'dude, what the hell?' stare. Sam fired back bitchface number two (also known as "I'm not a kid anymore Dean.").

Their father walked out of the bathroom and regarded him with narrowed eyes. Feeling guilty, Sam avoided his gaze as the eldest Winchester looked at his son and waited. Stalling, Sam walked over to the table in the kitchenette and took off his backpack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his dad cross his arms.

He hung his jacket up in the closet.

When he turned around, he saw his brother laying on one of the queen sized beds, a large yellow bag of peanut M &M's beside him. Dean reached into the bag and took out a handful, one by one he tossed a candy up into the air and caught it in his mouth and smirked gleefully at Sam. ("Hey dude, you asked for it. You're on your own.")

Finally, John spoke.

"Is there a good reason that you are –" pausing, he looked at his watch, "more than two hours late for a check-in?"

Sam had more than a few bitter responses to his father's inquiry, but he held them back.

"No, sir." He said shortly, a tone which earned him a raised eyebrow from his dad

Sam felt the prickle of guilt. He was happy to see his family, but he was disappointed that he was going to be leaving Sunnydale so soon. He straightened his shoulders and looked his father in the eyes.

"I lost track of time," he admitted.

John debated on giving his son a lecture, which would most invariably lead to another one of their famous arguments. However, since it was out of character for Sam to be so irresponsible, he decided to let it go. John was so relieved so relieved to see that Sam was safe and unharmed that he (almost) didn't care that he wasn't here when they arrived back.

Using Winchester avoidance technique number three, John walked to the closet and picked out his jacket.

"I need to go meet with someone. I should be back in a couple of hours. Dean- get some rest; Sam – have everything ready so we can leave tomorrow." Without looking back, he walked out of the door.

Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked at Sam.

"You have no idea how worried Dad was about you. You should have been here Sammy, he was ready to start a search party to find you."

Funny , Sam thought, how Dean could disappear for hours at a time but everyone freaked if he missed one check in.

"Sam!" Dean stood up, "I am serious. What the hell?"

Still irritated, he ignored his brother and walked into the bathroom.

"I'm taking a shower." He closed the bathroom door and locked it.

Of course, Dean would not let it go. Once Sam came out of the bathroom, he kept nagging until Sam exploded at him.

"I'm just sick of it! I just want to be a normal kid for once. I hate this, Dean! Always moving, changing towns, changing friends. It just never ends…"

"Jesus Christ, Sammy, what six legged insect crawled up your ass? This has never bothered you before."

"It has bothered me for a long time, Dean" Sam said quietly, "I just never said anything before."

"Well, why now? Why here? What is so special about Sunnyd-" Dean stopped and looked at Sam, his eyes wide. "Holy shit! It's about a girl!" He laughed gleefully. "Little Sammy is in Luuuu-ve!"

"Shut up Dean."

"HAHA." He slapped Sammy on the back. "You _are_ in love. Tell me about her Sam. Is she a dweeb like you? I can just picture her…she probably is a tall freak like you and wears glasses. Did you kiss her?" Dean wiggled his eyebrows. "Did she let you get to second b-"

Sam stood up and clenched his fists.

"Shut. Up."

The smile disappeared from Dean's eyes.

"You do like her. A lot. Oh, Sammy." Dean looked at him with pity in his eyes.

"Yeah. Well it doesn't matter now, does it? 'Cause we are leaving, just like we always do." Sam didn't try to keep the bitterness from his voice. "And it is not just about a girl. It's just….the possibilities. I just wish there was more time. I liked feeling normal, Dean, and I am not ready to give it up."

Outside the motel door, John had returned earlier than expected as his meeting had been a no-show. Hearing the raised voices coming from inside, he paused, listening as his sons argued.

When he first decided to change his life and hunt the foul fiend that killed his wife, he decided that he would never look back. It had been the right choice for him. It was, in some small way, his salvation and gave his life purpose and focus. Each day brought him closer to the satisfaction of facing his wife's killer.

But, had it been the right decision for his sons?

_"It has bothered me for a long time, Dean, I just never said anything before."_

John stepped back from the door and turned away. He had some thinking to do.

* * *

The boys lay on their beds in the darkness of the room. Dean had been filling Sam in on the latest adventure.

"…and you don't want to know what happens when you turn on the wipers. It is just wrong Sammy. Damn Gremlins!" he grumbled heatedly. "It took hours to get the lights working right - every time we turned on the headlights, the radio would turn off. Off!"

Sam chuckled.

"Stop laughing Sam. It is just so …undignified. Poor Baby," Dean said, mournfully.

"Did you find the Gremlins?"

"No. They had messed up Baby so badly, it took hours to get her rewired just so we could start her." Dean yawned and, in the ensuing silence, the brothers drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Sam woke up and finished dressing in his favorite sweats just as his father was walking through the door. John paused, looking at the bags stacked neatly by the door. As requested, Sam had packed up all of his belongs.

"There has been a change of plans, son. Looks like you are going to be stuck in this town for a few more weeks, maybe as long as a month."

Sam sat up and looked at his dad. John bit back a smile at the spark of excitement he saw in his son's eyes.

"I am sorry to do this to you, but it turns out this area is a bit of a hot-spot," he continued, "We need this –" he waved his hands around the motel room, "to be our base of operations in between jobs. Dean and I will need to head out in a few hours, but we should be back in three days..."

John continued talking, but Sam hardly listened. As long as a month! He went to his father and, in a rare display, he grabbed his father and hugged him. John hugged him back, then reluctantly let go. Awkwardly, the pair stepped back and regarded each other. Abruptly, Sam said he would go for a run. He went to the door and opened it.

"Sam." John said.

Pausing, he turned back and looked at his dad. A small black object flew towards him. Sam caught it in his left hand. Sam looked down at the cell phone.

"That phone rings, you had better damn well answer it, kid. Keep it charged and with you at all times."

A huge grin spread across Sam face,

"Thanks Dad." Then he was gone.

John looked over at Dean, who was lying on the bed watching him.

"You sure about this?" Dean asked his father.

"No. But, I figured we could give the kid a break. What's a month?"

Dean shrugged. "And when the month is up?"

The two men looked at each other, the question hanging in the air.

* * *

A few hours after his father and brother pulled out of the parking lot, Sam left the motel room. As promised, he had charged the cell phone before heading to Bronze to meet with Buffy.

There was a short line at the doors to get inside, but the bouncer, who bore a striking resemblance to Bruce Willis (circa "Moonlighting" era, back when he had hair) was quick and efficient so the line moved quickly. A minute barely passed while he waited and then Sam was flashing his ID, one that showed his actual age, and a florescent red strap was wrapped around his wrist.

When he stepped inside, he scanned and studied the interior (one side exit on east wall, two separate staircases on either side of the interior that led upward, one door with a circular window that most likely led to the kitchen, two hallways – one on the east wall to the restrooms and the other off the back wall).

Casually, he walked around the room. There were few tables scattered around the perimeter of the parquet dance floor, a raised stage and one long bar counter near the kitchen door. Towards the back, the room was divided by a wide, door-less entry in another room, there were more tables and a few couches and love seats, an arrangement, he thought, more suited to a book store rather than a night club

He found a third staircase that led toward a lower level and a sign that proclaimed to one and all that "Band Members and Management Only" were permitted below.

He noted the band, playing on the stage. A few days ago, when he was watching Oz's band during their "practice/gig", the guys had talked about getting good enough to play at The Bronze. (Although the band still didn't have a name, they had managed to get a new singer- a guy by the name of Devon.) Idly, Sam wondered how long it would take the band to get the chance to play at Sunnydale's premier nightspot.

Throughout his tour of the club, he kept an eye out for Buffy, but saw no sign of her or her friends. Spying an empty table, he walked over and sat down at high table surrounded by stools. Immediately, a waitress came over to take his drink order. The quick glance at his wrist band had him rethink his urge to order a beer and he opted for a ginger ale instead. On his birthday, his brother slipped him a fake ID and a stern warning _("Use it wisely, Sammy! Dad will kill me if he knew I gave this to you."_), however, the ID was back in the motel room tucked inside the inner pocket of his duffle.

Sam turned his attention to the dancers on the floor, recognizing some of the flushed faces from school. Everyone looked like they were having a good time. The song ended and the band switched into a new song, with a heavy bass and fast beat. Judging by the cheer from the dancers on the floor, it was clearly a crowd favorite.

Sam felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Buffy standing behind him with her friends. He tried to ignore the flip his stomach gave as he saw her_– boyfriend! She has a boyfriend!_ His mind whispered – but it was difficult since she looked almost as happy to see him as he was to see her.

Buffy turned to her friends and said something to them. They nodded and moved away. She leaned forward and Sam could barely make out her words, the music was so loud.

"…over here. It will be… talk." Sam smiled when he felt the surge of heat as Buffy grasped his hand and tugged. The first few times he felt the strange sensation he thought it was a figment of his imagination, but now he knew that he wasn't imaging it.

Grabbing his drink with his free hand, Sam got up and followed. Buffy led him into another room, where there were more tables and a few couches but the music wasn't as loud. He spied Willow and Xander sitting on a love seat. Releasing his hand, Buffy walked over and flopped on the couch across from her friends.

She pointed beside her and looked at Sam expectantly.

"Sit." she ordered with a smile. "Isn't this better? You can still hear the music, but it isn't as loud. Sam, this is Willow and Xander. Guy's, you remember Sam?"

The next two hours flew by as the group talked and laughed. Willow and Xander were startled when they realized that he was aware of Buffy's extracurricular, and sometimes nocturnal, activities and that Giles moonlighted as a Watcher. He recounted the events that had led to his discovery and his initial meeting with Buffy in the Library. Xander remarked on Sam's easy acceptance of Buffy's slaying; Willow caught the glance that Buffy and Sam shared.

"I suppose this isn't your first experience with the mystical and magical?" she correctly guessed.

Sam hesitated, but then shook his head. Xander looked at Sam speculatively. "So there are other hellmouths that you have been too?"

Again, Sam shook his head. "There doesn't have to be a hell mouth for-" he paused, searching for the right word, "the supernatural to occur." Then, Sam shared a few carefully edited stories of his own.

"I don't understand," Willow said, "your stories are from all over the United States. Where did you live before Sunnydale?"

Without thinking, Sam replied, "Wherever the hunt took us."

Realizing what he just said, Sam leaned back and closed his eyes. ("Trust no one…") He felt the soft touch of Buffy's hand as she gently squeezed his hand.

"You can trust them. I promise. I trust them and they have always stood by me."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. For a moment, the music, the crowd - everything - faded and it was just the two of them. Heat flowed from her hand on to his. Buffy's eyes and she looked down at their joined hands. She feels it too! Sam thought. Then, she blinked and gently slid her hand off of his and looked away.

Sam looked at Willow and Xander. Before he could change his mind, he said "It's what we are - my family - we are Hunters."

* * *

"…and you don't have any powers or super-special abilities?" Xander was asking.

"Nope. We've just learned a lot of tricks that help us out. We make special ammo using rock salt instead of gun powder, which is more effective against ghosts, demons and other entities."

The conversation turned after that; Xander and Willow shared some of their stories with him. Praying-mantis women, wanna-be-cheerleading-witches, computer boyfriends – it would have been hard to believe if Sam had led a different life. Instead, he found their stories all too easy to believe.

The band had been on a short break and had come back on to the stage. Another fast song poured through the speakers.

Willow's face lit up.

"I love this song! Let's go dance." She exclaimed.

Buffy, Willow and Xander stood up but Sam remained seated on the couch, suddenly self-conscious. The trio stopped and looked at him.

"C'mon, Sam." Willow said, reaching down to grab his hand.

"Uh…I'm okay here thanks. You guys go ahead without me." Sam looked down at the couch, suddenly very interested in watching the ice melt in his empty glass.

The threesome sat back down and looked at Sam.

"Really, I will be okay. You guys go ahead without me."

"Nope." Xander said, shaking his head, "If you don't go, we don't go."

Sam looked over at Buffy and Willow.

"It's sad but true." Willow said, "We will just sit with you. No need for dancing and fun, it would be rude."

They looked at him expectantly.

Sam sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

"I can't dance." He confessed.

For a moment everyone was quiet. Reluctantly, Sam looked at the small group just in time to see Buffy and Willow shared a delighted smile. As if on springs, they bounced from their seats and each girl grabbed one of Sam's hands.

"Is that all? C'mon it's easy. We will show you." They tugged until Sam stood up.

"I'll look ridiculous. Everyone will stare."

Xander shook his head.

"No, they won't. You can do anything out there and no one will care. You just have fun."

"See," Buffy said, "No one cares. Just have fun. Besides, Xander can't dance either, so you won't be alone."

"Right," Xander nodded affably and followed Buffy and Willow as they pulled Sam towards the floor. "Fun. HEY- I can so dance!"

* * *

The following week, after the final bell signaled the end of the school day, Buffy and Willow ambled their way off the school grounds.

"He can't be serious! The talent show? I am not getting up in front of the whole school…" Buffy griped.

"Buffy," Willow gave her friend a fleeting reproachful look, always uncomfortable when authority figures were being discussed disrespectfully. "You heard Principal Snyder. We don't have a choice and I am sure we can come with something. Can you sing?" Willow looked at Buffy hopefully.

"Will, I don't even sing in the shower. The only singing I would ever do willingly would involve some kind of spell or being compelled against my will or both! Not likely!"

The two girls were silent as they pondered their dilemma.

Willow sighed. "I guess we will just have to- hey! Is that Sam?"

Feeling her stomach give a little flip at the mention of his name, Buffy looked in the direction that Willow pointed, trying to appear casual. She spotted the lanky teen walking with another Willow asked. "Yes." Buffy agreed. "That other guy looks familiar; I don't remember his name though."

"Andrew," Willow supplied "he is the one Larry is always picking on. It's nice that Sam is talking to him, Andrew doesn't have a lot of friends."

She recalled the incident a few weeks ago, when Larry was bullying Andrew. While Buffy had dealt with Larry, Sam had helped Andrew. She realized that she often went for the bully and hardly thought about the victim. Sam was not like that.

She spoke with Willow for another moment, until Ms. Calendar was leaving the school. Willow realized that she needed to talk to the teacher about a computer assignment she was given earlier that day. She apologized to Buffy and then chased after the teacher.

Buffy began to walk in the direction that Sam had taken a few minutes ago with Andrew. She had a question…

* * *

"…I still don't see why you should care one way or the other." Andrew said to Sam.

"I know how it feels, Andrew, that's all."

"Hardly." Andrew scoffed as he looked up at Sam. "I don't think you have ever been bullied a day in your life."

"Not anymore," Sam laughed, "But I wasn't always this tall. For years, until I was about thirteen, I was the shortest guy in the class and there were always plenty of guys who thought it was fun to push me around."

Andrew narrowed his eyes, wondering if the other teen was telling the truth. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded.

"Okay, say I believe you, how can you help me? Are you going to become my personal bodyguard?"

"Nope," Sam shook his head, "but I can teach you a few things about balance, falling safely and maybe getting the upper hand."

Andrew was still skeptical, yet he couldn't ignore the spark of excitement inside. It would be nice to see the look on Larry's face if he got the upper hand for once.

"So, what do we do?" Andrew asked.

Sam smiled. "Okay, it sounds kind of stupid, but you have to learn how to fall. If someone pushes you forward or backward, you need to learn how to fall without getting hurt."

Andrew's face fell.

"I get it. This is where you get to push me down and laugh at me for being such a gullible idiot." He reached down to pick up his backpack. "Not going to happen, Sam."

Sam stepped forward.

"Well, how about you push me down? I can show you how to fall and get back on your feet. You don't have to try until you want to."

Andrew looked skeptically at the tall junior. Was this guy for real?

* * *

Buffy turned the corner, just in time to see Andrew run towards Sam and give him a mighty shove. She was about to intervene, but stopped when Sam rolled neatly backwards and stood again.

Then she watched as Sam knelt on the ground on one knee and slowly rolled backwards until he was kneeling again. He said something to Andrew, and the freshman shook his head. Sam nodded and stood up again. Again, Andrew rushed toward Sam, pushing him backwards. Again Sam rolled backward ending in a kneeling position on knee.

Andrew said something to Sam, who nodded and stood and turned with his back to younger teen. Andrew backed up and ran toward him, pushing him forward. Sam rolled forward and stood. Then, he knelt down on the ground, with one knee up and slowly demonstrated the roll.

Although there were a few kids still milling about on school property, this area was deserted. Quietly, Buffy backed up and leaned against the wall of the school, having an idea of what she thought was happening.

Time after time, Andrew pushed him backwards and forwards, while Sam patiently let him. Then, Andrew stopped and spoke to Sam. Sam nodded and knelt on knee on the ground and Andrew did the same. He watched as Sam slowly demonstrated a backwards roll again. Andrew mimicked him.

Andrew's first couple attempts were awkward-jerky and uncoordinated, but she admired the kid's determination, just as she admired Sam's patience. He was a natural teacher.

When the younger teen felt more confident with the rolls, they stopped. Andrew grabbed his backpack off of the ground and turned to Sam with a question on his face.

"Do you think you could teach me some more? I don't have a lot of free time after school since I spend practically all of my free time practicing the Piano, but I have Mondays free."

Sam smiled at Andrew.

"Sure. I don't know how long I will be staying, but while I am here, I could show you a few more tricks."

"Thanks Sam. You're a really good teacher!" Andrew grinned and he turned away.

Sam watched Andrew, feeling pleased. He was a good teacher! For his whole life, he had always been the one that needed to learn, his brother had been the one to teach. With his lifestyle, he never thought about teaching. He thought about the teacher's he had in the past and wondered how they had chosen their careers. Did they have a moment like this? He imagined going to College and becoming a teacher. It seemed stable, boring even. Safe.

If only, he thought wistfully, colleges had teacher courses in -

His thoughts stopped and his heart skipped a beat when he saw her sitting against the wall, watching him. Catching his look she waved, a smile on her face. Sam walked over to her and sat down beside her, his back to the wall.

They sat close together and her hand rested on the concrete pad where they both sat, his hand was less than an inch away. They didn't touch, but he felt as if a magnet was pulling his hand towards hers.

_Boyfriend!_ He reminded himself fiercely.

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself." she commented.

Sam felt a smile spread across his face.

"I did. It felt...good. No-it felt great!"

* * *

The music – heavy with the beat; the lights –flashing, flickering; the crowd-cheering, clapping, bodies pulsing along with the beat. The laughter-friendly faces, smiling, happy to see him; the dancing - he danced! And he loved it! (The inner Dean once tried to make fun, but Sam slammed that voice down. For the first time, he didn't wonder or care what the oldest Winchester brother would think.)

His friends were here.

Willow – he had forgotten how innocent people could be. She was a good reminder of why the world needed Hunters and Slayers.

Xander – he was a mix of awkward and easy going, completely likable. They shared the same guilty pleasure - comic books.

Buffy - she was the best part. He didn't even care about the boyfriend. In some ways, the fact that she had a guy in her life was a relief. Sam knew, if she didn't have a boyfriend, he would never be able to leave Sunnydale, instead, he would fight tooth and nail to stay regardless of the consequences. He knew that his days were numbered - he would be leaving soon.

There were others, of course. Even if they weren't present, he considered them his friends.

Giles –So different from his relationship with his father – asking why was not encouraged by John Winchester. If he asked, you did, it was that simple. Yet Giles took Sam seriously, patiently answering the multitude of questions that Sam had on Watchers. If Giles didn't know the answer, he would tell Sam "Let me look that up. I will get back to you." Sam knew that Giles would follow through.

Oz- well, Oz was just Oz…he was cool.

The band took a break. The crowd broke apart. Xander and Willow went to grab some drinks (it was their turn to pay), Sam and Buffy walked back to the table they claimed earlier. Buffy wore her hair down tonight. She reached her hands behind her neck and lifted her hair for a moment. He would have been dead not to have noticed the way it pulled her shirt tighter across her breasts.

He couldn't help it, his mind wandered as he fantasized what would happen if...

_He reaches out and grabs her hand. She pauses and looks over at him. Gently, he tugs her closer. There is no resistance as he pulls her closer and leans down to whisper in her ear._

_"Let's get out of here." She shivers and gives him a smile. "I know just the place." she says._

_Together they share a smile at the heat that flows between their clasped hands. They walk out of the Bronze and down the street. At the intersection of an alley, Buffy pulls him into the dark lane and backs up against the side wall as she tugs him toward her. Again, they feel the rush of heat that flows between their joined hands._

_He looks down at her face as she looks up at him._

_"Can you feel that?" she asks him._

_He nods, because it is the absolute truth. The heat rushes from her hand and up his arm, then spreads all over his body. He looks at her flush on her cheeks and knows she is experiencing the same reaction._

_He steps closer to her, she steps closer, molding herself to him. She lets go of his hands and slides her hands up his chest. He groans as she leaves a burning trail of heat as her hands slide up to his neck. He slides his around her waist and pulls her closer to him. The back of her shirt rides up as she reaches around his neck and guides his head down to hers. Smooth as silk, his hands slide her shirt and up her back. She makes a sound that is part moan and part sigh. Their lips meet…and the heat between them becomes a blaze..._

"Ohmigod!" Buffy exclaimed.

Sam blinked.

They were seated around one of the Bronze's high round bar tables, Buffy attention focused on something behind him, a surprised smile on her face. Xander and Willow arrived at the table, each with a drink in each hand.

Noticing Buffy's expression, Xander glanced toward the door.

"Great." he says sourly as Buffy got up and walked away.

"Xander, be nice." Willow said, reprovingly.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"Angel." Xander said, flatly.

"Angel." Willow sighed with a wistful smile.

"Maybe we will get lucky and he will leave." Xander said, somewhat hopefully.

Sam stiffened for a moment, but resisted the urge to turn around. He had been around long enough, to know who Angel was. _Kinda someone._ They hadn't met and, although he was filled with curiosity, he didn't turn around. Instead, he looked into one of the mirrors on the wall.

He watched Buffy as she walked toward the door and looked at the guy waiting in the doorway. He had to admit, he was a little surprised. From the way everyone talked about Angel, Sam expected him to look more dangerous, more intimidating. He didn't think that the tall, skinny red-head in the doorway was her type.

The red-head turned away as Buffy arrived and walked off in the opposite direction. Sam felt a spark of indignation. Buffy deserved better than that! Obviously, she thought so too. She had turned and was coming back to the table. She didn't seem too torn up about the snub, Sam noted.

"Fuck." Xander said softly. "They are coming over."

With a sinking feeling, Sam watched as Buffy in the mirror, as she approached, _alone_.

"Angel's going to join us." Buffy said, smiling. Slowly, Sam turned his head and looked at the guy with Buffy and, silently, he echoed Xander's sentiments.

Fuck.

* * *

_He had almost arrived in Sunnydale when he felt the pull of the Summons, which he couldn't ignore, even if he wanted to. The timing was inconvenient and he was certain that the answer was in Sunnydale. Frustrated at the interruption, he directed his essence back to Hell, unable to guess how long he would be under._

_Time moved differently in Hell._

_He would be back. And when he was, he was sure that he could reinforce the connection and make it stronger than ever._

_He was about to enter the gates of Hell when he felt the connection fracture. With a roar of rage, he tried to turn away. But it was too late. He had already crossed over into the borders of Hell. He didn't panic, he could only be grateful that although the connection was splintered, tenuous at best, it was not severed._

_She would be the first one to welcome him, he thought snidely as he looked at female form standing at the gates of hell. The regarded each other, the wariness between them always present._

_They both hated it here, yet neither one would admit it to the other. Both preferred to be above ground where souls were easier to collect. Souls were currency, power._

_"Lilith." he said._

_"Azazel." she responded._


	11. Chapter Eight - Distractions

**Warning**: here there be the switching of POVs…try not to get dizzy.

Apologies for the lateness!

**Chapter 8**

**Distractions**

Several thoughts went through his head at the same time, a mental Rolodex of demonology and supernatural facts that he sorted through to find some explanation (other than the obvious) because there was _no way_ that The Slayer would ever-

_Would she?_

Sam looked at Angel's face as Buffy introduced them.

Grudgingly, he could see the appeal that the older brunette had for a girl like Buffy. It was rare when he saw a guy as pretty as his brother and the tall, muscled guy that stood beside his friend could give his brother a run for his money in the looks department. Yet, good looks did not explain why the blonde slayer was holding hands with …something that was not human.

As they exchanged polite nods, he remembered something that Dean told him once.

"_The more experienced I get with Hunting, the more I realize that we develop a kind of perception. Sometimes, Sammy, I can look at a guy and just _know_ that he isn't human."_

Strangely, with Angel, he didn't get a demon vibe. He figured that it was his lack of experience and, in fact, if he hadn't been watching Buffy in the mirror as she went to meet him, Sam probably wouldn't have noticed anything amiss.

Yet, the mirror on the wall didn't lie. Sam turned toward the table again on the pretense of taking a sip of his drink, stealing a small glance in the mirror as he did so; he clearly saw Buffy, Xander, Willow and himself but there was no image for Angel.

Angel was not human.

Sam studied his friends, hoping for some enlightenment.

Xander was wary, and kept his distance from Angel. In addition, from the snide, under-the-breath comments that he made, it was also apparent that he did not like Buffy's boyfriend and Sam felt a wave of affection for his new friend. Perhaps they had more in common than comic books?

Willow seemed friendlier towards Buffy's dark-haired companion. She blushed prettily when he complemented her on her outfit, but she got a little jumpy when Angel stood too close and, as she told a story with her hands waving about, she flinched when she accidentally bumped Angel's hand, then flushed apologetically.

If Angel noticed, he gave no indication.

Did they know the truth?

Did Giles?

If they knew the truth, why did they accept Angel? He couldn't see Buffy putting her friends in danger.

So many conflicting emotions - jealousy, curiosity, protectiveness, and hurt - bubbled up inside of him that for a moment Sam could hardly think.

He was torn between wanting to find out more about the (_vampire? gotta be a vampire_, _but How? Why?_) guy - there had to be something different if Buffy dated him - and wanting to give in to his hunting instincts (according to Buffy, decapitation, sunlight and stakes through the heart will eliminate the threat…nearby pool cues when snapped would make an adequate stake, but there were too many people around and Sam did not want to risk any civilians getting injured…if needed, he would have to find a way to get Angel out the back…_)._

Still, he couldn't look at Buffy; he felt as if something was squeezing all of the air from his chest. He had opened up to her more than he had to any other non-family person before and it hurt when he realized that he had been kidding himself when he thought that he had finally found a place where he could belong.

He was still the outsider.

* * *

Angel studied the youngest Winchester.

Earlier, he had searched the kid's face for some sign of recognition and had found none. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, the last time they had met face to face had been years ago and the kid couldn't have been more than four or five years old.

He leaned down and murmured something quietly into Buffy's ear, who nodded in response and looked at her friends.

"Guys, we will be right back."

Angel didn't have to have eyes in the back of his head to know that the young Hunter watched as he and Buffy walk toward the back of the club. He couldn't help the small, smug smile flitted across his face before he hid it.

* * *

As they stepped into the shadows at the back, Sam watched the pair lean against the wall facing each other. Since Buffy was turned away, Sam could see the back of her head while he had a clear view of Angel.

He caught a movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see Xander and Willow looking at each other.

"I don't know why he always wants to talk to her alone when he knows she is just going to tell us anyway, especially if it had to do with The Mast-"

"Xander!" Willow interjected.

Guiltily, Xander and Willow looked at him and just as quick their eyes slid away.

_Great, more secrets _Sam thought.

He needed to get away. He needed to –

"Dance with me." A voice in his ear demanded.

Sam looked at the new arrival to their table and recognized her as a fellow Sunnydale High classmate. Her name was-

"Hello Katy." He greeted her with a warm smile.

Beside him, Willow gave surprised inhale and Xander snickered. The flush that stained the newcomer's (Carrie?) cheeks and the tightening of her mouth indicated that he had gotten her name wrong.

"Cordelia," Xander began, "So what brings Her Royal Highness –"

Sam mentally slapped his forehead. _Cordy_. That's what she called herself. He felt like an ass for embarrassing her, but he wanted to politely decline her request for a dance when he glanced over at Buffy.

She still had he back to him and was facing Angel.

Briefly, he and Angel made eye contact then Angel bent his head down and kissed Buffy. He must have imagined the slight stiffening of her spine before she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

The little green-eyed monster inside of him reared its ugly head and head-butted him on the face.

Cordelia had turned away and was speaking over her shoulder to Xander.

"…certainly wouldn't with the like of you, Harris!" her voice dripped with scorn as she walked away.

Desperate for a distraction, Sam followed her. For someone in impossibly high heels, she moved quickly; when he caught up to her, she was halfway across the dance floor.

"Cordelia." She paused and looked at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed in displeasure. Undeterred, Sam continued.

"I am sorry that I did not remember your name," he said with sincerity, "you have been very helpful to me over the last few days."

It was the truth. Since he had arrived at Sunnydale, she had always been around to give him directions to a class or walk with him to a class. Embarrassed, he realized she had introduced herself a few times and he kicked himself for not paying more attention.

* * *

Cordy could hold a grudge and make a person's life miserable when she put her mind to it however she thought that Sam Winchester could get a free pass – he was too cute for her to keep her distance. Since he had arrived at Sunnydale, he had been the topic of discussion and speculation, especially by the female students. He had hardly looked at any girl (and Cordy refused to consider the morbid Buffy Summers a girl, much less competition).

What a coup it would be, she thought, if she once again managed to reign supreme…and caught the most mysterious guy at Sunnydale.

Aware of the eyes of her clique watching her, she listened to his apology and flashed him her most flirtatious smile.

"I guess you are just going to have to convince me." She purred.

* * *

"That was nice." Smiling softly, Buffy tilted her head and looked at Angel as she pulled back from his embrace.

He smiled as he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear while inwardly he hoped that the frustration he was feeling inside didn't show. _ Nice?_ A couple of weeks ago, his kisses made her breathless and made her eyes sparkle. They used to make her heart pound…now his kisses were _nice_.

He looked over again to the table. Xander and Willow were now sitting at the table, talking to each other and Sam was absent from the table, however his height made him easy to spot beside the dance floor, talking to Cordelia.

_Damn_. Angel had hoped he would take off.

Once again, that surreal feeling came over him. Sam was a kid, of all things and, though Angel had done things the kid couldn't even imagine (sexual and otherwise), yet, he was still jealous.

The old adage came to mind. _All's fair, in love and war…_

He kissed Buffy on the forehead and smiled at her. She smiled back at him, happily. The music changed and the band played a slow song.

"Let's dance."

Buffy laughed. "You never want to dance."

"I do now." He clasped her hand in his and tugged her on to the dance floor.

* * *

Buffy grinned, delighted at the rare invitation to dance with Angel, who was always so careful to keep distance between them. The pair wove their way on to the crowded dance floor; the band playing on stage had been to Sunnydale many times and was popular.

Angel stopped and he held her in his arms and together they swayed to the music. Buffy stepped close to him, put her head on his chest, closed her eyes and tried to relax.

Since she had arrived in Sunnydale the man who held her had occupied most of her waking thoughts and dominated a majority of her dreams. It had felt like she had spent forever trying to convince him that they could make a relationship work.

_This,_ she thought, _this is what I have been waiting for._

The pulsing bass reverberated throughout the club and she opened her eyes to watch some of the other people near her, happy to note so many happy couples were dancing together. Even Sam and Cordy looked like they were having a good time.

_Sam and Cordy?_

Buffy blinked, sure she was hallucinating, but the scene remained unchanged.

Cordelia had just threaded her hands around his neck when Sam and Buffy looked at each other. Before she could blink, Sam directed his attention to Cordy and smiled a kind of smile Buffy had never seen him use. This smile was slow, sexy and full of promises.

A knot formed in her gut...

* * *

_Don't look at her. Don't look at her_.

Sam chanted the phrase over and over in his mind, until he couldn't help it any longer and he looked. He had seen them walk over to the dance floor and positioned himself so he could watch them over Cordelia's shoulder. He felt stupid for doing it, but he couldn't help himself.

He watched as Angel wrapped his arms around her and she pressed up against him, her head on his chest. Again, Sam felt the air being sucked out. He needed to do something, anything to take his mind off of Buffy.

What would Dean do?

Out of his element, he looked at some of the guys near him for inspiration. Some of the guys, like Angel, had pulled the girl close to them and just swayed to the music, while other guys gyrated against their partner. As most of the girls looked uncomfortable being part of such a display, he decided against the gyration. His eyes wandered a little further around the room.

_Don't look at_ – he reminded himself quickly, but it was too late.

Buffy's eyes were open, a soft smile on her face as she gazed contentedly at the people around her and, exposed as he was, it was only a matter of time before she saw him.

Suddenly, he knew exactly what Dean would do. Buffy's eyes wandered over the people near her. Just as he felt her gaze, Cordy reached up and Sam knew that Dean wouldn't be looking at another girl, not when he had a smoking hot (distraction) opportunity in his arms.

If Sam wanted to walk away with an ounce of pride he needed to become his brother.

"You know, I have been trying to get your attention all week Sam Winchester. I have to tell you, I have never had to work this hard to get a guy to pay attention to me." Cordelia lowered her eyes and looked at him through her lashes, pouting slightly.

Sam looked away from Buffy and slowly smiled at Cordy, just like he knew Dean would. He deepened his voice and said, "Well, sweetheart, now that you have my attention, what are you going to do with me?"

Cordelia pressed closer to Sam. "The possibilities are endless…"

He bent his head down until his lips were near her ears.

"Enlighten me." He said.

* * *

"It's disgusting is what I mean, c'mon Will…it's Cordelia! What does he see in her?"

Buffy and Angel had left the dance floor at the end of the song; Angel had gone to get Buffy a soda and she had gone to find Willow to exclaim over Sam's fatal error in judgment.

"You mean besides the" she gestured the universal sign for breasts, "and the" another universal gesture for a voluptuous woman.

Buffy narrowed her eyes at her friend, and then she glanced back at the dance floor. Cordelia had turned her body and was dancing with her back pressed up to Sam. She looked over her shoulder at Sam and gave him a smile. Sam returned her smile with another slow sexy smile, while his hands skimmed down the sides of her body and rested upon her hips.

"Ugh!" Buffy exploded in disgust. "She is such a hag!"

Willow picked up her drink and was bringing it to her lips when she paused. She tilted her head and looked at Buffy speculatively. She was beginning to think that this was more than the usual "Cordelia is such a hag" speech.

Buffy didn't notice. She was still watching Sam and Cordelia (_Cordelia_-of all people!) dance.

"Look at her- she is all over him."

Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched as Cordelia rose up on her tip-toes and pulled Sam's head down to whisper in his ear. She grasped one of Sam's hands, turned and walked off the dance floor, pulling Sam behind her. They wove through the crowd and then - she couldn't see them anymore.

Buffy paused mid-rant.

"Where did they go? Are they leaving?" she asked disbelievingly.

Willow said nothing, but continued to watch her friend.

* * *

Angel stood at the bar, watching Buffy. He didn't need to have vampire super-hearing to know what she was talking about with Willow. Her agitated body language said it all. She hadn't even noticed when he walked away from the table earlier all of her attention was focused on Sam (and Cordelia).

_One phone call,_ his inner voice whispered and Angel fought against the urge to listen yet, he looked down at his hands at the small, plain business card. He didn't even remember pulling it from his pocket. The only writing on the cream colored surface was a name and phone number scrawled in ink. Holding the card between his thumb and forefingers, he tapped it against the table.

_One little phone call is all it will take,_ his inner voice whispered.

Making a decision, he went over to Buffy and told her that he had to go. He frowned over her distracted "Okay. Call me." but merely nodded and left.

From the Bronze, he walked down the street and into a nearby bar. He didn't own a phone and the Bronze was too noisy; this bar, smaller and less busy than the Bronze, catered to an altogether different clientele.

Towards, the back, there was a phone booth. Angel picked up the phone and dropped in a couple of quarters. He didn't need to look at the card to remember the number.

The voice that picked up on the other end was gruff.

"John. It's Angel." He began with a smile.

_Be convincing, _the voice urged. He frowned and his next words were filled with concern.

"We need to talk."

* * *

Sam followed Cordelia as she pulled him off the dance floor, her hand felt (wrong) cool in his and he resisted the urge to pull out of her grasp. He had to be crazy, of course, because she was making her interest in him plain to see. With a twinge of guilt, he knew he never would have flirted with her if he hadn't been so desperate for a distraction and now he regretted his impulse. She seemed nice and did not deserve to be treated this way.

They went to a side exit and stood in the alley between the Bronze and an empty building beside it. She backed up and leaned against the wall.

"It was so hot in there! This is much better." She fanned herself with her hand and grinned at him.

Awkwardly, Sam smiled back. It was easier, when he was inside, to play a part. The loud music, the dancing crowd, made it easier to pretend, but outside in the cool air, the music was just a muffled beat coming through the walls of the Bronze. In the silence, he searched for words to say and came up with nothing.

Cordelia, however, did not have the same problem. She reached up and grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him toward her.

"You know, there is no reason to stand so far away." with a tug, she pulled her fisted hand down and brought his head toward hers.

_So, no need to talk then_, Sam thought, partly relieved and partly discomfited.

* * *

Willow sipped her soda and continued to watch Buffy. She was up on her tip toes, eyes trying vainly to scan the dance crowd. Irritation flashed across the Slayer's face as she realized she was not tall enough.

"They were there. Where did they go?" she muttered to herself.

Willow kept silent.

Instinctively, she knew she would probably get more information from Buffy regarding her unusual behavior if she didn't talk. She wanted to ask questions, in fact she was dying to ask questions, but she kept her mouth closed.

"Erg." Buffy said in frustration.

Xander walked up and regarded Buffy curiously as she pulled her chair out from the table and stood on it. He looked at Willow and raised an eyebrow. Willow furrowed her eyebrows and gave a head tilt in Buffy's direction.

"Uh Buff? What's the sitch?"

Buffy ignored him and looked around the room.

"Buffy? Buffy?" his voice louder on the second repetition. Startled, Buffy looked sheepishly at Xander and Willow as she jumped down from the chair.

"Thought I saw a Vampire." She mumbled, somewhat embarrassed.

"Ah- the eighties hair band-wannabe?" Xander nodded knowingly. "You know, I saw him and I _thought_ so too!"

Buffy nodded absently and Xander, confused at her inaction, looked at her, then at Willow.

Willow shrugged.

"Uh, Buff?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, he went out the side door with a girl."

"He did?"

"Uh-huh. Although, I don't see what any girl would see in him."

"You don't? I don't know…could be the way he looks at you when you talk to him. Or the way his hair seems to fall across his eyes…you just want to reach out and brush it away…and that strange heat you feel when he tou-" Buffy's voice drifted off for a moment and she looked at Xander and Willow. Willow's eyes sparkled and Xander looked bemused.

"Huh," Xander hummed, "I never figured you for a David Lee Roth type."

Buffy's eyes widened and her cheeks turned pink. She cleared her throat.

"Vamp went out the side door you say?" Xander nodded, "Okay, I'll go check it out. No-" she waved at Xander and Willow, "you guys stay here. It won't take long."

Grateful for a distraction, Buffy walked away.

* * *

"Angel?" John's voice repeated his name for the third time.

_What am I doing? _Angel asked himself, not sure what had possessed him to call John Winchester.

_Liar, _the voice retorted snidely. _Jealousy_, _plain and simple. _

Angel sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm here." He spoke into the phone.

"Is everything okay? Is Sam-" John's voice held a note of panic and Angel felt a twinge of guilt. If John thought for one moment that his son was in danger, he would hightail it back to Sunnydale and whisk his son away before the sun rose. Angel knew firsthand how protective John was toward Sam.

On the other hand, if John Winchester thought Sam was in danger, he would hightail it back to Sunnydale.

_Just tell him._

Angel made his decision.

"Sam is fine. I have been keeping an eye on him, as you had asked."

"Oh. For a moment I thought – well never mind." John's relief was apparent.

Angel's guilt increased.

_What am I becoming?_ He asked himself and his inner voice chuckled maliciously.

"But John, I think there is something you should know..."

_Sorry Kid._ Angel thought, _all's fair in love and war_.

* * *

It wasn't his first kiss- it wasn't his second either – but when it came to girls, Sam didn't exactly fall into the "experienced" category. He had always felt self-conscious around girls. Of course, the fact that he never really stayed in one town longer than a month or two meant that just as he worked up enough courage to ask a girl out, go on a date and kiss someone, it was time to leave.

Yet, he had kissed enough to know when a kiss was good and when a kiss – wasn't.

There was no reason why this kiss _wouldn't_ be a good one. The girl was gorgeous, had an amazing body and was every teen-aged boy's fantasy.

One touch of her lips and his every thought _should_ have been focused on how to skip second and third base hit a home run. Her hands were in his hair and running over his shoulders, his hands were on her trim waist. So, why did it feel so – so…?

She pulled back from him and they looked at each other. Her face held the same quizzical expression that he was certain mirrored his own.

The door opened and another couple stumbled out into the alley. The girl bumped into them and giggled.

"Sorry." She said, breathlessly. She and the guy she was with moved up the alley, toward the back of the building.

"Strange…" she murmured, "I didn't …" She started

"I didn't either." Sam said quietly.

Her eyes opened wide, her expression incredulous.

"Impossible." She whispered. "Nothing?"

Sam shook his head, with some regret.

"I'm sorry?" he asked the last part as a question.

"But- I'm Cordelia Chase!" she protested. "I'm popular. I'm beautiful…"

Her expression looked so forlorn that Sam felt the need to reassure her.

"You are. You are." He agreed on both points. "_You _are every guy's fantasy!"

"I know!" she agreed.

They looked at each other for a moment.

"And you!" Cordelia pointed at Sam. "You are gorgeous. You are mysterious. You have a great" she rolled her 'r' in the word like a growl and ran her hands up his chest, "body. Every girl has been talking about you ever since you showed up at school."

"Really?" Sam asked. _Huh. Go figure._ He thought to himself.

"You must have noticed."

"Huh-uh." Sam shook his head.

"My point is-there must be a mistake." Cordelia said firmly. "I think we just need to put some more effort into this. At the very least, _you_ should feel something. Perhaps, if I just…" and with that, she pulled Sam up to her body, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

Still kissing him, she said "Anything?" against his lips.

"No. You?" he said against hers.

"No. Put your hands on my boobs." He pulled back from her.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes!" She hissed, "My breasts are spectacular! I think we just need to turn up the heat a little."

"Maybe we should just stop and …"

"Are you a quitter, Sam? 'Cause I'm not a quitter!" She pulled Sam roughly toward her, plastered herself up against him, "Now touch my boobs dammit!"

Sam obeyed. Cordelia ground her lips against his and he felt her up.

* * *

Buffy strode outside and scanned the alleyway looking for the wannabe rocker vampire. Although the alley was not lit up like a Superdome, there was plenty of light to provide a clear view of Sam and Cordelia smashed up against each other kissing passionately.

_And was that his hand on her breast?_ Buffy felt the knot in her gut tighten even more.

A girl ran toward her and looked behind her. She crashed into Sam and Cordelia, causing Sam to pitch sideways into Buffy. The girl stumbled toward Cordelia and then continued on her way.

"Omf." Buffy said, as they lost their balance and tumbled toward the ground with Sam on top of her.

Her body was immediately flooded with heat; every part of her body that was touched by him burned.

"Buffy?" he said, shocked. He twisted his body until, instead of lying sideways on her they were now face to face. Sam looked into her startled eyes

Her heart started to pound and she put her hands on his shoulders.

"Buffy?" A female voice said in disbelief.

Embarrassed, Buffy looked at Sam and then at Cordelia.

She couldn't say that she was stalking a vampire in front of Cordelia. Obviously, the brunette was irritated at the interruption and, as she felt the obvious evidence of the effect their kissing had on Sam against her hip, Buffy was certain Sam felt the same.

Disappointment (jealousy dammit!) coursed through her. She pushed back on Sam's shoulders and tried to sit up. Sam rocked back on his heels and stood, holding a hand toward Buffy.

Reluctantly, she put her hand in his and felt that familiar rush of heat flow from her hand to hers. She stood quickly and pulled her hand from his. As soon as she lost contact, her palm tingled. Again.

Buffy heard a sound further down the alley.

_Vampire! Buffy - Focus!_ She told herself.

"Uh...I need to go check something out," She told them," you guys might want to take your-" unwillingly her eyes traveled down Sam's body and stopped on his groin. Sam shifted uncomfortably and her eyes flew back to Sam's. "-selves somewhere more private."

_It's not any of my business!_ Buffy told herself fiercely. She walked down the alley toward the back of the Bronze. Her slayer hearing, however, picked up Cordelia's hissed words.

"Cm'here."

She heard Sam's surprised "Hey!"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me! Her? Seriously? You have been making out with me and - nothing! But you fall on top of that freak and now- well that's just great!"

_What? _Surprised, Buffy stopped.

She had reached the back wall of the building. She turned her head and glanced back down the alley towards Sam and Cordelia just in time to see the girl stalk back inside the nightclub. Sam leaned against the wall and banged the back of his head against the wall.

"Way to go Winchester. Buffy thinks you are a pervert and Cordelia," Buffy heard him sigh, "needs an explanation." He took a deep breath, opened the door to the Bronze and went back inside.

_What?_ Buffy asked herself again.

A strangled noise drew her attention and she looked at the wall. The vamp stood with his head flat against the wall, his game face was on and his eyes were wide.

"Ow. Ow. OW." he was saying.

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Oh you are making this way too easy!" she exclaimed.

She walked closer to the Vamp, trying to get a look at the back of his head. He was wearing skin-tight spandex pants, a spandex tank top and his long hair appeared to be caught in the spinning blades of a large screened in fan.

"Uh...do you think you could...no?" his face went from hopeful to disappointed as she staked him. Dust flew around her and, feeling unsettled, Buffy turned back into the alley and walked into the Bronze.

* * *

Angel hung up the phone. He walked up the bar and took a seat at the stool.

_It won't be long, now. _He thought to himself.

John and his son would be returning to Sunnydale before the sun rose.

Willy approached him and slid an ornate, opaque bottle in front of him. The aroma made Angel's fangs poke through his gums. As he brought the blood to his lips, he remembered the boy he had rescued so long ago. In the past, Angel had always remembered the kid with fondness and hoped they would meet again. Now, he wished he had never set eyes on the kid, he would feel a hell of a lot less guilty, that was for certain.

_Stop being such a pussy_ his inner voice chided _once the kid is gone, the Slayer will be mi- ours again._

_Shut up_ he told himself.

_Make me _the voice snarked.

* * *

Willow loved dancing.

When she danced, she never felt awkward or clumsy. She could jump, bounce, sway and move to the beat of the music, whether in a group or alone. When she danced, she never cared if eyes were watching her or judging her. She just felt…free.

Overhead the lights sent a spectrum of scattered colors spinning around the nightclub and her hair color changed from gold to sunset to burgundy depending on the hue of the lights. Xander waved at her to get her attention and pointed in the direction of the restrooms, letting her know where he was going. Smiling, she nodded and continued with her dancing.

She didn't notice the guy staring at her like he was caught in a trance nor feel his gaze as his eyes followed her as she moved around the floor with her eyes closed and a smile on her lips.

He ignored the girls that smiled at him, trying vainly for his attention. He moved when she moved, always the same distance away, like they were tied with an invisible cord and his attention was riveted on her.

* * *

_Impossible!_ Cordelia fumed. _She was Cordelia-fucking-Chase and every guy from here to Los Angeles drooled over her._

Still, she couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Sam Winchester, Mystery-Man-on-Campus, could kiss her without getting turned on, yet when he _fell_ on that morbid _freak _Buffy Summers he got the monster of all erections.

She knew this, because she felt it.

She didn't even want to think about her reaction to Sam.

She was honest enough to admit that she had kissed a lot of guys and enjoyed most of them. She loved the desire that curled in her stomach, that feeling of anticipation and power. Anticipation of the possibilities - dates, dances, being wanted, being envied (and best of all _more kissing!)_; and power - because the guys always wanted her, they drooled over her and swore they worshiped her.

She wasn't a slut though. In fact, she was still a virgin. Her refusal to go further than kissing, and the occasional groping, had some guys calling her a few choice names. She chose her boyfriends based on status and what they do for her social life; some might call it mercenary, she just called it practical.

The day she stopped caring about what others thought would be the day she knew she found Mr. Right, but she kept that thought to herself. She could only imagine how Harmony and the girls would treat her if they ever discovered what a romantic she was deep down.

She walked past the dance floor and almost collided with that oaf, Xander Harris. He steadied her with his hands and apologized. The merest brush of his fingers against her skin brought a knot of desire curling in her stomach. In alarm, she pushed him away.

"Watch where you are going, loser!" she said sharply.

As always, when she was around him, her voice was sharper than she normally was. Something in him brought out that reaction in her. If her friends were around, she knew she was downright vicious. When they were one-on-one, however, she actually enjoyed trading barbs with him.

There were few guys who could hold their own against her insults and he was one of them.

Cordelia walked toward the bar and ordered a Ginger Ale. She left the bartender a tip and then looked for a quiet spot where she could watch the dancers. Again, she thought about Sam and felt a spark of indignation (not panic).

Guys _wanted_ her dammit!

She would prove it.

* * *

Sam walked through the doors and glanced around for Cordelia. When he didn't see her, he looked at the dance floor and saw Xander leave and head towards the men's room. Spying Willow alone on the dance floor, he walked toward her, the sweet expression on her face made Sam smile. He liked Buffy's red-haired friend.

He saw another familiar face on the dance floor and waved. After a moment, when he got no response, he put his hand down and a grin spread across his face.

_Well, would you look at that!_ He chuckled to himself.

Sam stood near the edge of the floor and wondered what was going to happen.

* * *

Buffy walked back into the Bronze. Immediately, she spotted Sam and approached him, her stomach in knots.

She reached him just as the band stopped playing and the singer leaned toward the microphone.

"Okay Guys. Time for a blackout!"

The crowd cheered as the lights went out and a hazy blue light cast dim light over the club. Every person became a shadow, an indistinct figure and it was practically impossible to make out anyone's face.

"Now grab someone, head to floor and hope to hell you have the right person, cause in a blackout, it's hard to know for sure."

Before she could hesitate, Buffy grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him on to the dance floor. Heat surged at the contact and she smiled to herself in the dark. She was getting used to that.

Music started, she recognized the beginning strains of a cover of Pearl Jam's "Alive".

She felt his arms wrap themselves around her, felt the heat surround her and relaxed into his embrace. She put her head against his chest and felt the thump-thump-thump of his heart beat against her face. She wasn't surprised to realize that his heartbeat matched hers exactly. She knew it was selfish, but in this moment, she never wanted to let him go.

She inhaled his scent deeply. The smell was pure Sam; he would never use cologne, just like she never wore perfume.

_Never give the enemy the advantage of smelling you before you attack._

One of the first lessons Merrick had taught her. He had told her to throw away all of her perfume because it gave the enemy the advantage. At first, she hadn't listened to him but on her second night patrolling in the graveyards of LA, she got scared and tried running and hiding from a vamp. Like a cat with a mouse, the vampire found her time and again and let her escape, telling her she was making it too easy, the scent of her perfume led him right to her.

Although she might make mistakes, Buffy prided herself on never making the same mistake twice.

Her nose twitched as she smelled the faint scent of Cordelia's perfume though. She ignored that. For right now, Buffy was going to just live in the moment and enjoy it.

In this moment, nothing existed. No demands, no Angel, no un-met expectations and pressure to be the Slayer. Nothing.

Just Sam and his arms around her, holding her against him as if he would never let go.

* * *

He felt her hand slip into his, felt that comforting surge of heat and all thoughts left his head. Mutely, he followed her as the lights went out. He heard the band start to play a Pearl Jam song and he smiled as her arms slipped around his waist and his arms wrapped around her small frame.

_God, it felt good_.

As their bodies touched, he felt the slow burn that happened every time they connected. He stopped questioning the _What? Why? How?_ and just accepted it.

At this moment, nothing else existed. No family that would take him away, no vampire (he knew it was a vampire) boyfriend, no Slayer, no Hunter.

Just Buffy, her arms around his waist and holding him against her as if she would never let go.

* * *

Xander walked out of the men's room and heard the singer's words. He sighed and stopped walking when the lights went out.

Experience taught him when the Bronze had one of their famous blackouts, it was best not to move too much. He had a bad habit of walking into couples, getting smacked (funny how easy it was to have a punch connect with his face in the dark) and getting shoved as couples hurried to the dance floors.

Besides, the best part of the Bronze version of Seven Minutes in Heaven was when the lights came on...the looks on people's faces when they had ended up with the wrong person was fun! Many a break-up happened following a Bronze blackout.

He was completely unprepared for the hand that grabbed his collar and pulled him forward. He had no time to utter anything other than a muffled "Mmpf". Suddenly, lips were being pressed against his.

Kissage.

Stranger In The Dark Kissage.

Intriguing.

His initial shock wore off and a reckless feeling overcame him.

_What the hell, I might as well make it worth it._

Arousal coiled within as his hands went to the girl's waist (damn small waist it was too) and he pulled her body closer to his. Then he felt a surge of power within him.

_Keep your eyes closed. Keep your eyes closed, _he repeated to himself and tried to curb the panic within.

Forcefully, he turned them so her back was up against the wall. He felt her tense and her mouth opened and felt her lips move in protest against his mouth. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue in her mouth and he felt, rather than heard, the moan come from her. Her hands slid around to the back of his neck and she pulled his head towards hers.

_Oh my God!_ He thought and pulled her closer.

* * *

_Oh my God!_ Cordelia thought.

She heard the singer announce the blackout and just as the lights went out, she had grabbed Xander. She had seen him (_HA!_ _Waited for him, you mean, _her inner voice mocked her) when he came out. She knew he had always had a crush on her and her ego needed a boost. She just meant to kiss him long enough to know that he _wanted_ her then she was going to walk away.

She felt a spark of triumph when she felt his arousal, but, when his hands touched her waist, any thoughts of stopping flew out of her head.

She never expected to like it, never expected to feel that instant stab of desire course through her and she _never_ expected the forceful way he would flip them and trap her against the wall, causing her to open her mouth and give him a chance to play tonsil hockey with her. She had every intention of pushing him away but her hands had a mind of their own. Instead of stopping at his (muscled!) chest, they continued upward behind his neck and she tightened her grasp, pulling him closer to her. She felt his legs, chest (_when did Xander Harris get muscles?)_ and it wasn't enough.

* * *

The song stopped and Willow opened her eyes.

_Oh no_, she cringed when the band announced the blackout, her eyes searching for a path off the dance floor so she could leave when the lights went out. Blackouts were awful. Previously, she had been pushed, shoved and once she was pinched!

Of course, the worst part of a blackout was that no one ever pulled her out on to the floor.

The lights went out and she heard the first bars of "Alive" being played, one of her favorites.

_Stupid blackout_! She grumbled to herself as she moved toward the edge of the floor-

-and felt a hand grab hers and tug her backwards. She almost lost her balance, but a pair of strong arms caught her and spun her around. Then she felt the hands move and rest lightly on her waist.

She leaned forward and spoke into the guy's ear. "I think you have the wrong person!" she said. Expecting the guy to let go, she stepped backward-

-and found herself unable to move. His hands held her lightly, but firmly. Apprehension formed within her. She hadn't had good luck with strangers that showed interest. One guy had been a vampire who had lured Willow away when she tried to "Carpe Diem"; another time she had formed an exciting, online relationship with a psychotic demon that had first been trapped in a book, then in the school's computer system.

She was a freak magnet.

As if sensing her discomfort, the guy leaned forward. "If you want to leave, I'll let go. But I hope you will stay. I promise that you are safe."

Willow took a step backward and this time, his hands loosened; one hand fell away, the other remained on her waist. Willow paused and peered at the shadow in front of her as tried vainly to see his face.

Needing courage, she recalled one of her favorite movie quotes.

_Sometimes, you just got to say "What the fuck!"_

If it worked for a young Tom Cruise, it could work for her.

Taking a deep breath, Willow stepped forward and put her hands up on the stranger's shoulders.

* * *

Oz had been mesmerized from the first moment he had seen her. Something about the red-haired girl captured his attention and he couldn't look away.

_Who is this girl? _He had thought, transfixed while he watched her dancing with a guy he vaguely recognized from school. Her hair was long, straight, but it was her eyes, huge and expressive, that captured his attention. They telegraphed her every thought.

He watched her as she danced with the guy. Clearly, they were friends. The guy seemed to like this girl, but all of his glances conveyed friendship, not interest. The red-haired girl clearly had a crush on the guy. Every time her eyes fell on him, they showed her feelings...attraction, hope, disappointment.

The other guy was oblivious to her feelings - or worse- he didn't care. Either way, Oz thought he was a fool.

When the guy left, Oz continued to watch the girl. Unlike most girls, who had been left alone on the dance floor, she seemed comfortable and relaxed. Her body moved with grace and fluidity, capturing the rhythm of the music easily. Her eyes closed and her expression softened and he wondered what she was thinking.

He could have watched her all night.

When the music stopped, the girl stopped dancing and Oz moved closer until he was just behind her.

The band announced a blackout and her head whipped around.

_She is going to leave _he realized.

The lights went out and a blue haze covered the club. Impulsively, he reached out and captured her hand just as she stepped away. When he tugged, a little harder than he meant to, causing her to stumble backwards, he grasped her shoulders, meaning to help her catch her balance.

He knew he should let go, but instead he pushed gently on one of her shoulders, causing her to turn and face him.

He supposed he should have felt bad for manhandling her but he would have done it again just to feel her so close. Like a startled deer, she stilled as he dropped his hands to her waist and he hoped she wouldn't leave.

When she stepped forward and he felt elation course through him. She moved her head to the side of her face and he inhaled her fragrance, a combination of peaches and Ivory Soap.

Then, she told him that he had the wrong person. When she moved to step back, he realized she was leaving. He didn't tighten his grip, but he didn't loosen it either. She stopped and he felt her tense and he wished the lights were on so he could see her face, see her eyes.

A slight tremor coursed through her as she drew a shaky breath and then he realized _he was scaring her._

Though it went against his desire to hold her close, he leaned forward told her that if she wanted to leave, she could. She took a step backwards and he forced himself to drop one hand. Again she paused and Oz tried very hard not to move because he really didn't want to scare this girl. Even though it was only a moment, to Oz it seemed to last an eternity.

Then she stepped forward and he felt her hands rest on his shoulders.

Oz gave a smile of relief.

* * *

Angel sipped his blood.

He hated that he had lied to John, hated what he was turning into, but it had to happen. The kid needed to leave. He knew he was making the wrong choices, but he couldn't stop himself. It was a trait of Angelus' that he thought was long gone, yet his obsession with Buffy was starting to consume him.

He turned to the demon in the chair next to him.

"I heard there was a Hunter in town. Ever hear the name Winchester?" He began.

_It's all for you, Buffy,_ he told himself.

He also told himself that John would collect the kid and be on his way before anything bad would happen. He had already told the man that demons had heard that a Winchester was in town. He just didn't tell John that they heard it from him.

* * *

_He hated this feeling. _

_Before being topside, he never gave any thought to Hell. Yet, the first time he glided across the earth above, he felt something. A freedom. Hell, it was just plain fun sometimes. Playing with people, possessing and forcing them to bend to his will, it was a powerful feeling. _

_Up there, he was always in motion. Now, when he was summoned below, he felt trapped, stagnant. He didn't let it show though. He pushed his impatience down as he waited. And waited..._

* * *

**A/N:** So, I am a bit of a review whore. Thoughts?

Stay tuned…


	12. Chapter Nine - Aftermath

**A/N: ** Remember, the year is 1997. Hence the dial-up ;)

**Chapter 9**

**Aftermath**

The group left the Bronze quietly and walked down the street for some distance; Xander and Willow were lost in their own thoughts while Buffy and Sam kept glancing at each other, then looking away.

The occasional attempt at conversation was met with halfhearted responses from the group.

"Fun time." Xander said. _Cordy kissed me. Why? I kissed her back. Why?_

"What? Oh. Yeah." Willow agreed. _Who is he? I go to school with him? Who is he?_

"Yeah." Buffy shivered, as a cool breeze stirred the air around her. She pulled her jacket closer to her body, glancing at Sam out of the corner of her eye.

"Uh-huh." Sam looked at Buffy and saw her looking at him. They both looked away.

A few minutes passed in silence.

"Good music." Willow commented. _I asked him his name but he wouldn't say. Why wouldn't he say?_

"Yep." Xander nodded. _I didn't imagine it. She kissed me and I kissed her back. _He felt both equal parts appalled and aroused. _Why?_ He asked himself again.

"Always good music at the Bronze." Buffy added. _Angel. God, Angel. I forgot about Angel. _She looked at Sam and lost her train of thought…

"I've liked it so far." Sam commented. _I wonder what she is thinking. She is probably thinking about Angel. He is her boyfriend, after all. Isn't he?_

More silence.

"So- uh…- the blackout thing?" Sam began. No one looked at each other.

"Hmm?" Willow looked at her hands.

"Huh?" Xander looked at his feet.

"Uh – huh?" Buffy became fascinated with the process of fastening her jacket.

"They do that often there?" Sam inquired. _Nothing can happen anyway. My month is up in a few days and we will be leaving. _

"Sometimes." _It was just like she had imagined. Thrilling. Sexy. Intimate._ Willow thought. _What did he mean when he told me, "Next time, you will have to find me."?_

"A couple of times." Xander remembered how her fingers had tightened on his shoulders as the final notes of the song were being played. For one second, she seemed to pull him closer. Then she shoved him away. The lights came on and they had stared at each other, breathing hard.

"Yeah." The lights had come on and Buffy found she was unwilling to step out of his arms; Sam had seemed reluctant to step away as well.

They arrived at an intersection. With a murmured "Goodbye" they parted ways; Willow and Xander going left towards their subdivision, Buffy and Sam staying on the road.

Xander walked Willow to her house. The porch light was on and he waited on the sidewalk while she fished out her key and unlocked the front door. She waved at him as she went inside and flipped off the outside light.

Upstairs, in her room, she turned on her computer, grabbed her pajamas and went into her bathroom. After changing, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, taking comfort in the familiar routine as she replayed the evening.

The welcome screen was up. Rapidly, she entered in her password and then clicked on the icon to connect to the internet and the modem whistled and whined as it dialed into her connection.

She dreamed of a future when technology would advance to the point when her computer could connect to the internet faster. And wouldn't it be nice if the monitors weren't so bulky?

Knowing the modem would take at least a minute or two to connect, she busied herself with small tasks; she put her clothes into the dirty clothes basket and laid out tomorrow's outfit for school, changing her mind twice.

Glancing at her monitor, she saw she was connected and she turned off her bedroom light. Now the only light in her room came from her small desk lamp and the large computer monitor.

The stranger's words echoed in her mind.

_You will have to find me,_ he had said.

"Challenge accepted." She grinned.

Fingers flying over the keys, Willow started by hacking into the school's records. First she opened the file containing all of the school ID's. She was confident, patient and methodical in her approach, a trait she had honed over the last year as she assisted Giles and Buffy with Helmouth research.

Before she went to bed, she knew his name, his class schedule, his grades (his GPA was higher than hers!) and his school email account. She sent him an anonymous and (almost) untraceable email that contained one word.

_Tag_.

"Now, you show me yours." She said out loud.

Willow went to sleep with a smile on her face. She dreamed of dancing under the twinkling stars in a pair of magical slippers with a spiky-haired prince.

* * *

Xander stood on the front porch, reluctant to go inside and fighting the same battle he fought every time he readied himself to go inside his house.

As he tensed and felt that familiar stirring within.

He inhaled slowly, through his nose - the faint odor of his father's favorite brand of cheap scotch and his mother's brand of box wine. He closed his eyes and turned his head to listen. Snores - coming from the upstairs master bedroom telling him his mom was asleep; canned laughter coming from a TV Land repeat episode, followed by his father's drunken laughter in the living room.

Xander considered his options.

If he wanted to avoid confrontation, he could simply walk around to the back yard and pull his sleeping bag from the shed; he could sleep outside and get up early to go inside and change for school.

Or, he could go inside.

Warily, he opened the front door and stepped inside.

_Maybe Tony wouldn't hear him, _he thought.

Immediately, the volume lowered on the TV and Xander heard the springs in the couch.

"That you Xander?" His father slurred.

Xander paused in mid-step on the stairs. His heart rate increased.

_No._ He groaned inwardly. _No. No. Not now!_

Xander heard his father walk into the foyer, giving a grunt as he walked into the wall.

_Drunk off his ass,_ Xander thought disgustedly as he stared forward and tried not to turn around.

"You trying to sneak up the stairs…being a coward?" his father's voice rose belligerently.

Xander said nothing. Years of practice told him that at this point, anything he said would provoke Tony.

Tony advanced up the stairs.

_No. Walk away Tony, just for the love of God walk away._

Tony stopped and Xander whipped around and grasped Tony's fist before it connected with his head. Eye's wide, Tony looked at Xander's face.

"I told you the last time _Dad_. You aren't allowed to use me as a punching bag anymore. This is your last warning. The next time, I hit back." Xander growled.

Tony lost his balance and began to fall backwards. With one blurred motion, Xander grabbed the front of Tony's stained wife-beater and held his father upright as he stared into his father's eyes.

_One push and it will all be over._ The gleeful voice whispered in his head.

_Shut up!_ Xander ordered and the voice in his mind quelled. He pulled on his father's shirt, spun him around and eased him down until he was sitting.

"Go to bed, Dad." He said, wearily, then continued up the stairs to his room. He changed into a pair of shorts and went into the bathroom. He flipped on the lights, closed and locked the door as he leaned forward and looked into the mirror.

Impassively, he looked at his green, glowing eyes and felt equal parts of shame and pride.

Shame that there must be something inside of him that refused to completely let the Hyena go. It was his secret, one he hid from Buffy, Willow and Giles.

Pride because the Hyena part of him had allowed him to stand up to Tony - the day Xander had been possessed at the zoo was the last day Tony had hit him.

"Go away." He commanded his image firmly. For a moment, the eyes glowed brighter, and then his eyes went back to hazel. His heart rate slowed and Xander brushed his teeth.

_Possessions are tricky things. _

He thought about Cordelia and he knew he couldn't let the incident be repeated.

He added lust to his private list of Hyena triggers.

He slept soundly.

In his dreams, he walked unseen in the darkness, seamlessly shifting from human to hyena as he stalked his prey, a young lioness. As a hunter, he was skilled and took down his prey quickly. Shifting back to his human form, he picked up the dead lioness, hefted the dead animal around his shoulders and carried it back to his tribe. Their strongest Hunter, he was feared and respected, but always alone.

They called him Bouda.

* * *

Cordelia sat in her car. Her hands shook slightly and her breathing was ragged. She left the Bronze so fast; she didn't even bother to go back to her table and her friends. Had she fallen into some weird parallel universe where the Sam Winchester's of the world failed to kick start her libido, but Xander-_fucking-_Harris could have her heart rate go from zero to one-twenty in under six seconds?

_What the hell were you thinking?_

Thank God, no one had seen her moment of insanity. Yep, IN-SAN-I-TY. Cordy shifted into drive and drove home.

_Never again, you hear me? Never again!_ She told herself firmly.

Xander Harris is dead wrong if he thinks he will ever get his ape-hands (_omigod…his hands. Gripping her waist, sliding across her back. His hands felt so goo-) o_r his lips on her again. (_His lips. On her lips. His tongue. Who in the hell taught him to kiss like that?). _

She gritted her teeth.

"NO! None of that Cordy. He is nothing. You hear me, nothing!" she said out loud.

She arrived at the gates to her home and pressed a button on the dash. Silently, the massive gates sprung wide.

Cordy drove through the gates and drummed her fingers anxiously on the steering wheel as she waited for them to close.

Once she was in her room, Cordelia stripped down and took a quick shower. Afterwards, she wrapped a towel around her torso and leaned close to the mirror, giving her face a thorough inspection. She knew her mother's inspection in the morning would be just as critical.

If the Chase family had a motto, it could be summed up in one word.

Image.

Image was everything. Heaven help her if her mom happened to spot a pimple.

To the public, she was the much loved, spoiled only child who's every whim could be indulged. Her father was the consummate family man; her mom was the perfect hostess. In private, though, things were different. Her father came home long enough to change clothes before leaving to be with his mistress-du-jour, he only stayed if they were hosting a party or soiree.

Her mother occupied herself with society gossip and social intrigue, firing her current domestic lover when she became bored or redecorating.

Cordelia was pretty much ignored.

She could come and go as she pleased as long as family image was maintained. She was expected to make an appearance at every party, called _him _"Daddy" and _her_ "Mummy". They, in turn, played the part of the proud parents and then she could make her escape.

If she thought she could get away with it, she would go to Hollywood after graduation and become an actress. She had been acting her whole life and thought she was damn good at it.

She would never do it, of course. Nope, no acting career for Cordelia Chase. She was expected to apply and attend a Top-Ten College. She knew she would get in, her best kept secret at school were her grades. She knew people thought she was dumb and a flake - they didn't know she was a straight-A student.

"Image is everything." She said into the mirror.

She brushed her teeth and returned to her room. She walked through the picture-perfect room (every teen girl's fantasy room, of course) and into her walk in closet. She changed into her favorite sleepwear. Nothing name brand here…she saved that stuff for sleepovers.

She turned on her bedside lamp and turned off the room light. She crawled into the bed and lay between the soft Egyptian cotton sheets.

She opened the drawer of her night table, pulling out the plain black journal. She chewed on the end of her pen for a moment.

Her one rule with her journal was simple. No pretending. Total honesty. But, she had a hard time putting her evening into words.

She didn't want to admit the truth. She couldn't. Finally, she decided to sum up her night with one simple question.

"Where in the hell did Xander Harris learn to kiss like that?"

She put her journal back into the drawer and switched off her lamp. She slept fitfully.

She dreamed that she walked into school and there were pictures of her and Xander kissing posted all over the school. Everywhere she turned people pointed at her and laughed, eyes sparling with malicious mischief as whispers spread through the school like wildfire.

As she dreamed, a trail of tears leaked from her closed eyes.

* * *

They continued forward in silence. Neither felt the need to talk. Soon enough, the red glow of the neon sign at the Sunnydale Inn came into their view. By mutual agreement, the pace of their steps slowed.

Buffy was the first to speak.

"So there is a dance next week…" she paused awkwardly, unsure how to proceed.

"Yeah. I saw the posters."

"Are you - have you asked anyone to go? Cordelia, perhaps?" Buffy tried not to look too anxious. _Please say no. Please say no._

"Cordelia? No. Uhh..no." Sam shook his head. _How did he explain what she saw earlier? Why did he feel the need to explain?_

"Oh. I thought that…well, after tonight when you- and she-" Buffy flushed, grateful for the darkness.

"No. No. We realized it was a mistake almost right away." Sam smiled. There that explained it! A mistake.

"A mistake?" she started, doubtfully. "You both realized you made a mistake, so you both just started groping each other?"

Her voice rose up on the last few words and she winced. _God, she sounded like a jealous shrew._

"She made me!" Sam said quickly. He flushed, grateful it was dark outside.

"She did? She made you grope her?" Disbelief colored her words. Sam cringed.

"Well uh, we uh kissed and then we both realized that we uh..." his voice trailed off. _This is embarrassing._

Buffy looked at him. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Werealizedthatweweren'tthatintoit. Butsherealized…Iwasntturnedon."

Silence.

He opened his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye's he saw her shoulders shaking.

"Oh. Come on!" he said. As if it wasn't embarrassing enough.

Muffled laughter.

"Go on, let it out."

She finally let loose with a full bodied laugh. It sounded so good to his ears, he smiled. After a moment, he joined in.

"Seriously?" she asked him, gasping for air.

"Honest truth." Sam told her.

She sobered. "But you did get turned on."

"Nope." Sam shook his head.

"But when you fell on me, I felt-"

Silence.

"You mean..." She faltered.

"Yeah." The word came out as a long exhale.

"Oh."

Sam finally asked the question that had been on his mind all night.

"So- you and Angel? Are you guys...together? Is he...your boyfriend?"

Buffy thought hard. _Was he?_ Many times, she had tried to talk to Angel about it. But he always brushed her off. _"It's complicated, Buffy."_ She had never been on a date with him. She had introduced him to her mom once, but she had to lie about who he was.

"Sam, if you had a girlfriend, what kinds of things would you do with her?"

"Look, Buffy, it's okay if you don't want to answer the question."

"I do. I'm just trying to figure something out. Please? What would you do with her?"

"Normal stuff, I guess. Dates, spend time together, introduce her to my Dad and Dean when they were around, call her and other...stuff."

"We never did stuff like that. No dating. No "meet the parents", I mean not really."

Sam recalled seeing her and Angel kiss earlier that night. "But there was other...stuff."

"Kissing. Yes." Even though she knew he couldn't see her face, she looked away. _This sounds so bad._

"So – you didn't date, he's not your boyfriend, you just hooked up?" He clarified.

"Yes, but there was no groping." The last word was said pointedly.

"When you kissed him, how was it?" Immediately, he regretted the question. Some things were better left unknown.

"It was nice."

"Nice?" He tried to muffle the laugh.

"Yes. Nice. Why?" she asked sharply when she heard his laugh, "What's wrong with nice?"

"Nothing. Nice is okay. Dull. Passionless. Chaste. "

"No, it's not. Nice is…nice." _God, why did it suddenly sound so inadequate to her?_

"Okay. Let me ask you this. When you were kissing him, what were you thinking about?"

Buffy thought for a moment.

"The usual stuff I guess. Patrolling. What I was going to wear to school."

They had reached the door of his motel room. Buffy turned to face him and, since all of the doors had lights above them, she had a clear view of his face.

"What do you think about?" The question came out breathlessly.

His eyes searched her face and she felt something inside her gut clench in response. Apprehensively, she took a step backwards, right into the wall. He took a step toward her.

"Not hunting." He said seriously. He put a hand against the wall, just above her shoulder. His eyes moved to her lips.

Nervously, she licked them.

"Not clothes." He reached up with a hand and grazed her hair with the softest of touches then rested his hand on the wall, above her other shoulder.

Anticipation coiled within her. Slowly, agonizingly so, he leaned down until his lips hovered just above her own.

"Definitely not school." He whispered. Their lips touched.

_Lips. His lips on her lips. Heat flowing from his mouth to her mouth and traveling down to her gut causing tendrils of flame to fire everywhere inside of her. More, she wanted more. Her lips parted and his tongue slid inside. And it wasn't enough. She put her hands on his waist. It wasn't enough. _

One of them groaned or moaned and they opened their eyes. Slowly they pulled apart, lips still close enough that they traded each other's air with each breath.

"How was that?" he whispered, his dimples flashing.

"Nrg." She replied and leaned toward him. He pulled back just a little and she made a small noise of protest.

"We can't do this. Not here-not like this." His tone was laced with regret. He moved his hand from the wall and played with the tendrils of hair, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. "Buffy, will you go on a date with me? Tomorrow?"

A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "Yes."

Sam laughed happily and pulled her into his arms and she rested her head on his chest.

It was perfect.

* * *

Buffy had no recollection of how she made it home. As if in a haze, she walked through her bedtime routine, turned off her bedroom light and slipped between the cool sheets. At first sleep was elusive while she replayed the night over and over in her head. After kissing Sam, she realized that…what she felt for Angel paled in comparison to the feelings she had for Sam.

She knew that she needed to meet with Angel tomorrow. She needed to be straight with him, it was only fair.

She touched her lips and smiled as she thought about Sam. Sam. For the first time, she had finally allowed herself to feel, _really feel_. His kisses were so...NOT nice.

She drifted off to sleep with a grin on her face.

Too wrapped up in her memories of the evening, she didn't feel the eyes that watched her first from across the street and then, later, through her bedroom window.

* * *

Belatedly, he realized that at some point in the evening, he had lost his phone. Most likely, it had slipped from his pocket when he fell against Buffy outside of the Bronze. He made a mental note to go by the Bronze during his morning run and see if he could find it.

Sam got ready for bed, his thoughts on Buffy. When he found his phone, he would call his Dad and find a way to convince him that he should stay longer. If he found out he was still leaving in a few days, well, he would make the most of the little time he had left- he would research every potential job in the nearby area and come up with enough work to keep them there at least another month, maybe longer.

He put his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.

_That kiss._ It was beyond great. It had definitely been (he grinned at the thought) NOT nice. His eyes eventually closed and he drifted off to sleep.

He was in a garden with fragrant blooms that blossomed all around him. He looked down at the rainbow of colors and sensing someone was nearby, he looked over, unsurprised at the blonde who appeared. It seemed natural that Buffy would be here with him.

"I think we are dreaming." She said. She was wearing shorts and a tank top and curiously he looked down at his own attire - boxer shorts.

"Is this my dream or yours?" He asked.

"Does it matter?" she replied.

"Nope. Not as long as you are here." He felt her hand slip into his as they shared a smile.

"I think I am getting addicted to that feeling." she said as they both looked at their linked hands.

"Why does that happen?" he wondered.

"You share a common link." The man appeared before them. Buffy and Sam accepted his presence without question.

"We do?" They spoke in unison and shared another smile.

"It's in the blood." The man smiled genially. "Hello Buffy. Hello Sam. It is good to see you both again."

They looked at the man, who beamed back at them.

"Have we met?" Buffy asked.

"Oh, yes. A few times, in fact." he chuckled. "Every time you die, you ask me that question."

"Die? I haven't died." Buffy looked alarmed, Sam put his arm around her shoulders.

"Sure you have. Both of you, in fact. Or, at least you will. I suppose it can get rather confusing." he chuckled. "Time is rather...elliptical here."

"Sir? Not to be rude, but where are we?"

The man chuckled again.

"Oh, well, I have made a mess of this, haven't I? Let me start over. I am Joshua. This is Heaven's Garden." Joshua spread his arms wide, indicating the space around them

Sam and Buffy looked at each other then back at Joshua. Joshua held up a hand as Buffy and Sam both opened their mouths to speak.

"No. Save the protest. We could go back and forth on this and it will take me too long to convince you of where we are. You are with me. I am Joshua. We are in Heaven's Garden."

Buffy shrugged.

"Okay, _why_ are we here then." She asked.

Joshua nodded approvingly.

"I have always liked that about you, Buffy. You can accept and move on."

The scenery changed. Instead of standing in the middle of a garden, they were sitting on a patio, the Garden spread out in front of them.

"You are here so I can give you some advice."

"Advice?" Again, in unison.

"You weren't supposed to have met." Identical looks of surprise crossed their faces.

"But, now you have met. Some things will change and we can't predict how it will play out this time around. No. I'm not going to explain it, so don't ask. It doesn't matter anyways, you won't remember this when you leave."

"You brought us here, to give us advice that we won't remember?" Buffy clarified.

"Exactly." Joshua nodded, pleased. Buffy smiled.

"Then why bring us here at all?" Sam questioned.

"I'm a gardener." Joshua said, simply, as if that explained it all.

Buffy and Sam nodded.

Joshua picked up a packet and both teens opened their palms as he sprinkled something into each of their hands.

"It's my advice." Joshua told them as they peered at the tiny objects in their palms.

"They are seeds." Buffy stated. She and Sam had matching looks of inquiry on their faces, unable to decipher the meaning behind their gift.

Joshua nodded.

"I'm a gardener. I plant seeds." He said again.

Sam's expression cleared. "Because we won't remember being here."

"Very clever. Very clever." Joshua slapped Sam on the back in congratulation. "You are both well matched! I wish it was this easy with everyone. Now, m'dear, you first."

He gestured to Buffy.

The scenery changed, the patio disappeared and they stood in a greenhouse. Buffy stood before a row of small pots, each half-full with soil. Buffy picked up a seed and leaned forward. She held the seed between her thumb and forefinger over the first pot and waited. Joshua leaned forward and looked into her eyes.

"Buffy- you need to learn your origins. Slayer history. You need to do this sooner that you did before." Then Buffy released the seed and Joshua tapped her forehead. Buffy looked into the pot unsurprised to see that the seed had instantly sprouted.

"Oh. I guess this means research." she frowned and Joshua laughed, gesturing to Sam. "Don't fret m'dear. He will help you." He leaned toward Sam, conspiratorially. "There's a book for that, you know."

Buffy picked up another seed. She held it over the next pot.

"Look after your friends. They need you. In fact, one of them has needed you for a while. Pay attention!" He emphasized the last two words. "Do not let history repeat itself." _Tap._ Another sprout burst through the soil.

Joshua turned to Sam.

"Now Sam," He began.

"Wait! I have another seed!" Buffy interrupted. "Well, kind of. I guess it is a half-seed."

Joshua nodded agreeably. "So you do. We will save that for last."

He turned back as Sam picked up a seed.

"Sam- learn _your_ origins! You need to find your bond with Buffy and understand it." _Tap._

"Sam- you have gifts within. Embrace them. As long as you don't force them, you will be fine. BUT, remember moderation, m'boy. Nobody likes a glutton." _Tap._

Sam looked down at his last seed. It looked like a seed had been cut in half. He and Buffy matched their seeds and together they made a whole seed.

Joshua looked solemn. Gently, he placed their hands together and closed his hands around theirs. He smiled at them.

"You feel that, yes? It is your bond. Your blood calls out to each other. _Heed that call!_ Risk everything to heed that call-even if you fear rejection. Together, your blood can heal even the gravest of ...afflictions and injuries. _Trust your bond!_" Joshua removed his hands from their and tapped their foreheads.

"Wait. Did you say afflictions or addictions?" Sam asked.

"Does it really matter, Sam?"

"I guess not."

"Well, as always, it has been my pleasure. Until next time."

"Hopefully, we won't see you for many years." Buffy grinned.

The slightest wrinkle puckered Joshua's forehead and he paused for a moment. Something about his posture made Buffy tighten her finger's apprehensively around Sam's. Then the Gardener smiled and looked them each in the eye.

"Heed that call."

* * *

"Sammy. God, the kid sleeps like the dead. Sammy! Wake up." Dean was shaking him.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Sam asked, his voice groggy.

"Time to go. Pack up. Dad is in the shower right now and wants to be on the road in twenty minutes."

"Go? What time is it?"

"3:30 AM" Dean announced cheerfully.

"I don't understand." _Go? As in leave Sunnydale? Leave Buf-_

"Dad got a tip Sammy. Some demons heard we had been going in and out of Sunnydale and they were looking for some payback on Dad. Dad was worried they would get you instead. So, we hightailed it back to get you the hell out of Dodge. Pack up your stuff."

Sam sat up and put on his sweatpants and a hoodie, his mind racing.

He knew his father. If one of his boys was in danger, nothing would change John Winchester's mind. Sam thought fast.

Quickly, he packed up his few belongings and noted that Dean had already stacked his own spare clothes by the door, along with their Dad's. His eyes searched the room for the keys to the car as he slipped on his running shoes and quickly laced them. Unable to see them, he surmised that the keys must be in the bathroom with his Dad.

"I'm going to start loading the car." he said as he picked up his backpack in one hand and one of Dean's duffle bags in the other. Nonchalantly as possible, he walked out the door and let it close behind him. Opening the door to the Impala, he threw the duffle into the backseat, put on his backpack and ran out of the parking lot, hoping that if he was fast, he would only be gone an hour.

Dean would be pissed and Dad would be furious but Sam did not care.

* * *

Buffy woke up and stretched, kicked back her blankets and grinned. Life was good. She hummed as she got ready for school, took extra care with her hair and was unable to keep the perma-grin off of her face. Her mom dropped her off at school and she practically bounced inside the school. She went into the Library first, but Giles wasn't there, neither was Sam.

She was disappointed that she would have to wait to see him.

Just as the bell rang, she saw Willow, who was going in the opposite direction.

"I have something to tell you later!" They both said in unison as they passed by each other. "Jinx! Double Jinx! You owe me a Coke!" Again in unison. Laughing they gave up.

Sluggishly, her morning passed as she went from class to class in a haze of daydreams. Images of future dates with Sam (at the movies, going with each other to the Spring Fling, going to the beach…she imagined them all) kept her mind occupied while she half-heartedly copied notes from the chalkboard. She kept her eyes open for Sam, but she must have kept missing him.

At lunch, she whispered with Willow, confiding her feelings for Sam. While Willow agreed it was only fair that she talk to Angel, she also pointed out that he was the one to put restrictions on their relationship and, therefore, he had no claim on her.

In turn, Willow told her about the mystery man at the Bronze and how she discovered his identity.

They ended lunch with a quick hug and excited giggles; Willow was off to the computer lab for her next class, Buffy off to Biology.

Later, after what seemed to be the longest day in the history of school, the final bell rang and Buffy made her way to the Library.

Instantly, her good mood disappeared and a knot formed in her gut the closer she got to the Library. She had a bad feeling...

She walked through the double doors and tossed her book bag on to the closest table.

"Giles?" she called out.

"One moment." He called out to her.

"Have you seen Sam? I haven't seen him all day. We were supposed to meet in here this morn-" she stopped at the look on Giles' face.

Wordlessly, he handed her two items. One was a letter in a sealed envelope. The other was a postcard that the words "GREETINGS FROM SUNNYDALE" written across the front. She flipped it over. One the back were the words "write me here" and an address for Sam Winchester c/o Bobby Singer and a post office box number in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

She looked at Giles.

"They were on my desk when I got here." he said.

She nodded. She picked up the envelope and post card, sliding them into the front pocket of her book bag then she walked out, passing by Willow and Xander without acknowledging them.

She went to the one spot where she knew she could be alone, the one place that only she and Sam knew about.

She got to her clearing and a ghost of a smile crossed her lips when she saw the sight. Obviously, Sam had been here a few times since they were last here. She walked up to the tree and touched the pile of homemade staves and stopped counting them when she reached twenty. She sat down in front of the tree and pulled out the envelope.

Taking a shaky breath, she opened it and withdrew the letter inside.

_Buffy,_

_I guess I have set a record for making and breaking a date._ _I hope you can forgive me. Can I ask for a rain check? _

_My father and brother showed up at about 3:30AM after getting a tip that some demons had heard they were staying in town and that I was alone. If it weren't for the tip, I might have been able to convince my Dad to let me stay, for a little while at least. _

_I have to hurry. _

_I ran over to the school as soon as I could (I had to pick the lock on one of the doors and get into the Library) to leave these for Giles to give to you. I suppose it would have been easier to mail them, but I didn't want you to wonder why I left for too long. _

_I am going to try to get back - I asked you out and you said yes, so I owe you a date. I just might be a little late._

_I hope you go to your clearing soon, I was there last weekend. I knew I would be leaving when my month was up, so I bought some stuff and put them in your box for you. _

_I'll be thinking about you. I will write you when I can and I hope you do the same. Bobby's is about the only permanent address I have. Send any mail in care of him and he will make sure I get it._

_Sam_

She pulled out her box and opened it. It was filled the brim.

On top was a first aid kit. A sticky note was stuck on top and the words "USE ME" and she let out a half-hearted laugh. She found her axe and knife -the axe had a leather cover with her initials engraved on the front; the knife had a sheath. She pulled out the knife and saw that it had been cleaned, polished and sharpened. She pulled out her axe. It, too, had been cleaned, polished and sharpened.

As she looked through her box she noticed the other items that had been added: a blade sharpener with another "USE ME" sticky note, some rolled up bulls eye targets, and a small one year membership card for "Mike's Gun Range". Another sticky read was stuck on the back of the card with "PRACTICE" written on it and underlined. This time a genuine laugh came from her.

At the bottom of the box was a stack of postcards. She turned them over. Each had Sam's address already completed and a stamp in the corner. She saw a pen with a note wrapped around it. She unrolled the note.

"You have no excuses! I'll be waiting to hear from you."

Buffy gathered up the postcards, pen, and gun range membership card and put them into her backpack. Carefully, she placed the other items into the box and put it back under the tree.

She didn't remember the walk home and she felt she was holding up rather well.

But, as she stepped up on her front porch, she felt a lump in her throat. The door opened before she touched it and her mom stood there and opened her arms as Buffy walked into them. A sob escaped her.

"Willow called. She told me. I am so sorry Buffy." She said in her soft voice.

She let the tears fall.

* * *

A/N: Yes? No? Right? Wrong?

-Stay tuned


	13. Interlude Three

**Interlude Three**

_Letters from Sam_

Mr. Giles,

I have met many teachers in my life. A few in particular have stood out from the rest, allowing me to get a glimpse of life beyond that of a Hunter's kid. Over the years, I have been told how smart I was and that I shouldn't waste my intelligence. I think, however, you are the first person to truly appreciate how it feels to be caught between two worlds. Your understanding and willingness to share your resources and your experience has meant more to me that you could ever imagine. I will miss our conversations.

Thank you for letting me read your journal. It was an amazingly generous gift for you to share. I cannot tell you how reassuring it was to read that there was another person, besides me, who questioned their place in the world – especially a world as unusual as ours.

It is too bad that they only offer Watcher training at Oxford. Wouldn't it be nice if they had something like that here in the states?

I left an address on the postcard for Buffy. If you don't mind passing the card and the note along to her I would be grateful. When I get time, I will send mail this way. Unfortunately, our lifestyle does not allow for permanence the only address I have to use is that of a close family friend. I have one other friend here at Sunnydale, a junior who goes by the name of Oz (I think his last name is Osborne). I hope it won't be too much of an imposition to pass along mail.

We are leaving tonight. My Dad got word that some demons had heard that he and my brother were passing in and out of town and the demons are looking for a bit of payback. He was worried for my safety. Funny though, I can't figure out how the demons knew. The only place where I actually used my real last name was here at school.

Just bad luck I guess.

Sam

_A note for Oz…_

Oz,

Seems I am leaving town with the family. Wish I could explain, but the story is too long and too boring. Sorry I will miss your big Bronze debut this summer. Did you get the date set yet? Or a name?

Send me a flyer, won't you?

Mr Giles, the school librarian has my address.

Btw…I think you are wrong. Last week's practice showed definite improvement over the first practice I saw!

Sam

_Postcard #1_

_Arrived three days after Sam left_

**Zombie Patrol **

**(Fresno Division)**

For all of the Scoobies-

Zombie Patrol=Scoobies

Keep fighting the good fight!

Saw this card and thought of all of you.

Buffy has my address. I know that we haven't spent a whole lot of time together, but if you ever feel like writing, I will write back.

Sam

_Postcard # 2_

**A picture of Yosemite Sam and the caption read**** "****I'm the hootinist, tootinist, shootinist bobtail wild cat in the west."**

Buffy,

Some things I forgot to ask you-

What is your favorite…

Food, color, song, movie genre, movie (ever), band, drink, flower?

Sam

~more to come. Stay tuned...


	14. Chapter Ten - Storm's Coming

**Warning: **I change from past tense into present tense in the middle of this purpose. Call it creative license

**Acknowledgements**: Thank you Google and Wikipedia for teaching me the rudiments of the noble art of lock-picking. If you pride yourself on your lock-picking skills and cringe at my crude attempts to portray them…well, let me just say… crits are welcome. Thank you to my Beta HappyPancreas!

**Chapter 10**

**Storm's Coming**

_**That morning, 3:45 AM**_

Sam had run along the road, his mind racing in several different directions.

It was too late to go by her house and even if he did, once he saw her he wouldn't be able to leave. Still, there had to be a way to let her know that he wasn't leaving willingly.

He considered the park, but it would take too long and was poorly lit. As it was, he was taking a risk right now; as soon as Dean and his Dad realized he had taken off, they would come looking for him.

The school was close and, although it was not his first choice, it was convenient.

Within fifteen minutes, he had avoided the brightly lit front doors in favor of a seldom used maintenance door along the back walls of the school, near three large green garbage dumpsters. Breathing hard, sweat pooling between his shoulders, he rooted around in his pack and pulled out the small toolkit –a present from Bobby on his fifteenth birthday.

Opening the kit, he selected a small flashlight, a miniature torsion wrench and a half-diamond pick. The flashlight, once turned on, was held between his teeth and aimed at the door lock.

With well-practiced dexterity and coordination, he slid the torsion wrench into the lock, followed by the pick. He began the process of using the pick to manipulate the four pins inside the lock and used the torsion wrench to apply torque to the plug and hold the pins in place.

Although movies would have one believe otherwise, lock picking was not a process that could be rushed; Sam's movements were slow and methodical. When the pins were ready and the tumblers had fallen into place, he turned the wrench and the door knob rotated.

He gathered his kit into his back pack and he went in the school, his footsteps echoing throughout the hallway as he walked purposefully toward the library. Once he reached his destination, he sat in Giles' office, turned on the small desk light while he pulled some blank paper along with a few cards from his backpack and paused, unsure of how to begin.

What could he say?

The truth, he decided, was a good place to start.

When he was finished, he folded the paper and put it into the envelope.

He took out the last remaining postcard and printed Bobby's address on the back. Aware of the clock ticking down until his departure, the majority of postcards that he had purchased had been taken to the clearing a few days before. Though he hoped to persuade his father to let him stay, Sam wanted to be prepared in case he would not.

Next, he took out the latest book that Giles had loaned him (Origins –Book One: The Watcher) and put it under the envelope. Lying flat on the top of the shelf in front of him was the next book in the series, Origins – Book Two: The Slayer. He smiled as he was reminded of the old chicken and egg joke- What came first -The Watcher or The Slayer?

With a small twinge of guilt, Sam slid the book into his bag. It wasn't stealing, he reminded himself, Giles had already told Sam that any books he borrowed could be mailed back if needed.

At the door, he paused while he looked around the small office. The majority of his early mornings at the school had spent in this office or in the Library with Giles over the last month. Sam often talked about his family and their expectations. Giles would listen and then ask, "But what do you want to do Sam?"

On impulse, he sat down and wrote a second letter, this time to Giles.

He made one last stop in the school, slipping a folded piece of paper into Oz's locker. Then he left, through the same door he had arrived.

The lights in the motel room were still on and, as Sam walked up to the door, he hoped he could make them understand. Bracing himself, he opened the door and faced his father and his brother.

* * *

He hadn't said one word since they drove out of the parking lot in Sunnydale. What was the point? His father and Dean had made their opinions clear.

Sam was a kid.

He didn't know shit about crap.

It all boiled down to one simple fact… Sam had no say in this family.

Once he realized how futile it would be to argue, he stopped arguing. Too many emotions festered inside and if he spoke, he knew that every bitter thought he ever had would tumble out and he wouldn't be able to stop. Opting for total avoidance, he put on his headphones, inserted a CD (The Pixie's "Dolittle") and sat silently in the backseat, staring out the window, listening to Black Francis sing as the sun began its ascent and the sky lightened.

Each road marker was a visual reminder that the he was being carried further away from Sunnydale, from the first place he wanted to call home. Further away from ...her.

After fifty miles, he imagined different scenarios where he took a bus back to Sunnydale or hitchhiked. He knew he wouldn't do it (_"We're a family, we stick together")_, but it felt good to imagine he could.

After a hundred miles, just outside of Santa Clarita, they turned North on I-5. The car picked up speed and the Impala roared up the interstate. He wondered if she was awake.

After a hundred and fifty miles, he wondered if Giles had arrived at the library.

Did he find the note? The address?

After two hundred miles, they stopped to refuel about fifty miles south of Fresno. As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Sam left the car, ignored any attempts by his father or brother to get his attention and went into the Gas Station. In the doorway, he paused and scanned the interior (one attendant behind a plexiglass wall, one rear doorway to a back exit – there was _always _ a back exit- two male and one female customers wandering around the interior).

In front of a large, square window, a rustic looking barrel was overflowing with slim, square cases and a sign which excitedly proclaimed "Soundtracks of the 70's!"

He sighed. Why did every gas station in the country have a fixation with the stylin' sounds of the seventies?

At least this one had CD's instead of 8-Tracks and cassettes. As he flipped through the CD's, he was surprised to find something he actually liked and plucked the case from the bin. Next, he went to look for some batteries. He selected the largest pack of Duracell AA's he could find-he didn't want to run out of batteries on the road.

Dean and his father walked into the station. Dean went straight for the candy aisle, tossing two large bags of peanut M&M's in to a small basket along with a bag of popped popcorn and then walked to the coolers to grab a soda. Catching Sam's eye, he shot a toothy grin toward the younger Winchester.

Sam looked away.

On the other side of the store, his father grabbed a couple of six packs of Miller from one of the refrigerators that lined the walls of the gas station.

A rack filled with a variety of postcards caught his eye and Sam walked over to it. One in particular stood out from the rest. The front showed a skull and crossbones symbol on top of a badge, with the words "Zombie Response Team (Fresno Division)" written around it.

For the first time since he had left Sunnydale, Sam smiled.

He pulled out one of the postcards as well as a few others from the display. On his way over to the cash register he picked up a couple of apples from a fruit basket and asked a store attendant if they had any stamps. The cashier rang up his total and Sam pulled out the last of his cash to pay.

A large calloused hand gently pushed Sam's hand to the side.

"I got this." His father said.

Sam shrugged, averted his gaze and stepped to the side. The cashier handed him his purchases and he walked out of the gas station and got into the backseat. The white plastic bag rustled as he pulled CD, removed the cellophane and inserted the CD into his Discman. He skipped over the first few songs until he found the song he wanted.

The sound of rain and thunder came through his headphones and Roger Daltry sang about finding spiritual redemption in the pouring rain.

His father and brother got into the car and the roared to life.

Sam closed his eyes.

Images, flickering through his mind, like snapshots.._._

_They walk into the diner. _

_John and Dean __sit__ side by side, __**backs to the **__**wall**_

_A waitress delivers _**food**_ to a family of four- _a mother, father with two children.

_A toddler who keeps _pointing out the window_. _

**(Look)**

_lightning _flashes _across_

_the sky._

thunder_** rumbles, **__a__ loud continuous _roll_ that seems to __shake__ the _diner

_Someone yelps in the back_

**(Storms make him nervous)**

_A waitress points with a bottle of _steak sauce_._

"**Storm's coming**,"_ she says._

**(Look! Look!) **

_The trucker stands _up

_Bad Company's "__Burning Sky__" begins to play._

_Dean and his father share an appreciative _smile.

**LOOK****!**

_Two packages of Thousand Islands dressing…_

A booming CRACK.

**Glass shatters**,

_A woman wails._

Charlie? No. **nonononononoooooooooooo**

A whisper in his mind._ "Embrace your gifts…"_

* * *

His eyes opened.

Disorientated, his heart hammering in his chest, he looked around. Behind him, through the rear window, he could still make out the shape of the gas station. In the front seat, Dean was opening the bag of popcorn and dumping his M&M's inside.

Already, the images were fading from his mind.

_What had he been thinking about?_ Sam felt it was something he should remember and looked through his window, searching the cloudless blue sky as if he expected to see the answer written across it.

_Storm's coming, _he thought then shook his head at the ridiculous thought. Tiredly, he rubbed his forehead. For some reason, the middle of his forehead felt sore…like someone had given him a hard poke.

Deciding he was imagining things, he rummaged through the bag and pulled out the Zombie postcard. He rooted around his backpack one handed for a pen and reset the song on his CD with the other. While The Who's "Love, Reign O'er Me" played, he put the Zombie postcard on his knee and began to write.

He ignored the apprehension twisting in his gut and the itch that was inching its way down his back.

_Storm's coming…_

* * *

After three hundred miles, they stopped at a rest stop on the outskirts of Yosemite National Park. It was a large rest stop and included a gas station/souvenir gift store. While his father topped off the fuel of the Impala, Sam dropped the postcards he had written into the mailbox and he wandered into the gift store, making a beeline for souvenir postcards.

He selected two and paid for them.

When he walked outside, he checked the sky again and frowned at the impulse.

_There is no storm coming, _he told himself.

It was a perfect spring day, but he wasn't reassured by the sight of cotton candy shaped-clouds stretched across the sky.

In fact, he was down-right uneasy.

This time, as the car sped along the highway, he stopped watching the road markers and began to watch the sky. By the time they stopped for a late lunch, the blue sky had flattened to a slate gray and the clouds no longer fluffy or white. Instead, they were a dark gray, heavy and low in the sky. They pulled up in front of a diner where, besides the Impala, there were only four other vehicles in the parking lot - a minivan , a Semi, a Jeep Wrangler and a motorcycle.

In front of the diner a sign proudly proclaimed it as the famous "Redwood Diner".

_Why did it look so familiar?_

Dean gestured toward the lone pecan tree that grew in front of the building, dotted with small buds on the tips of its branches and wondered aloud why it was called the Redwood Diner.

A light wind had picked up, making the branches dance.

They walk into the diner.

The three of them choose a booth in the back; John and Dean sit side by side, with their backs to the wall, so they have a clear view of everyone in the diner, Sam sits with his back to the room, humming softly along to the Kenny Roger's song coming from the jukebox.

"…_know when to walk away, know when to run. You'd better count your money_…"

Sam looks around at the occupants of the diner taking in the lone trucker who sits on a stool at the counter and the waitress delivering food to a family of four in one sweeping glance. One member of the family is a toddler who slips out of the booth seat and crawls under the table.

They look at the menu until the waitress arrives at their table; John orders the steak and eggs, Dean a Cheeseburger with fries and they look expectantly at Sam.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbles and his father gives a resigned sigh and tells the waitress to bring a large house salad for him, in case he changes his mind.

Sam feels the itch on the back of his neck.

"Look!"

Sam whips his head around. The toddler has moved away from the booth and is standing in front of a large picture window as lightning flashes across the sky. His father and Dean watch him inquiringly. Sam tries to see out of the window, but his position makes it difficult.

_So familiar. This is so familiar._ He thinks uneasily.

The child is excited. The wind has picked up and it is moving the branches of the pecan tree.

"Charlie, sit down baby." The mother says, "You need to eat."

She is out of her seat and she swings him up and into the cradle of her arms. The little boy giggles, wraps his hands around his mother's neck and gives her a loud, sloppy kiss then playfully pats her face.

She puts him down in the booth and the young child immediately slides under the booth and goes to the opposite side, where his father sits.

"Are you sitting with me now, Tiger?" the father asks as he pulls the boy up and sits him beside him on the booth. In a practiced motion, the parents switch plates; the mother takes over feeding the baby and the father puts a plate in front of the toddler then ruffles his hair.

_It's nothing _he tells himself.

Sam can hear the family in the booth talking, the happy giggles as the father tickles his young son affectionately and seeing the child sitting placidly beside his father calms Sam a little.

Until thunder rumbles outside and Sam's head begins to throb.

The waitress returns to the table, expertly balancing the trio of plates in one hand and a bottle of steak sauce with the other. She points toward the window with a bottle of steak sauce.

"Storm's coming," she says.

Sweat beads on Sam's lip and her voice sounds like it is coming from a distance.

_Something is going to happen. Something is going to happen. _

The thought echoes in his head.

Lightning flashes in the sky. Most heads in the diner turn and look out the window. Almost immediately, thunder rumbles in loud continuous roll that seems to shake the diner. A yelp comes from the kitchen behind the counter and the waitress sighs.

"Frank's gone and burned himself again!" She looks at them sadly, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Poor guy lost his family in a tornado down in Alabama a few years ago. It was a real shame. Storms make him nervous." She tuts and walks toward the back.

_Storms make him nervous..._the thought echoes in his head.

Again, Sam looks at the family behind him.

With a clatter of utensils, little Charlie has slid off the seat, under the table and is standing in front of the large window with a big grin on his face as he practically vibrates with excitement.

"Look. Look." He is pointing out the window again, rising up and down on the balls of his feet, enthralled with the sight of the darkening sky and the spastic jerking the branches of nearby trees.

Dean gives the kid an annoyed look.

"Somebody needs to make that kid sit down." He mutters quietly.

"Charlie, come here, son." The boy smiles sweetly at his father and bounces back to him.

Rain begins to hammer on the roof of the diner. The trucker stands up and walks back to the jukebox and feeds a few quarters into it. When the first chords of Bad Company's "Burning Sky" begins to play, Dean and his father share an appreciative smile.

Sam feels like he is going to throw up.

"What kind of dressing do you want, hon? We have Ranch and Thousand Islands – our morning delivery didn't come this morning, so it's all we got." The waitress smiles, apologetically.

Sam tells her ranch and she returns a minute later.

"Oops, I lied. Seems all we have left is Thousand Island. Sorry, hon." She lays two pouches of dressing on the table.

Panic over comes Sam.

_Images, flicker, like snap shots. _

_John and Dean sit side by side, with their backs to the wall; the waitress delivers food to a family of four; a toddler pointing out the window; (Look); lightning flashes, thunder rumbles; "Storms make him nervous"; "Storm's coming,"; "Look! Look!"; Bad Company's "Burning Sky" begins to play; "LOOK"; Two packages of Thousand Islands dressing; A booming CRACK; Glass shatters, A woman wails; Charlie? No. nonononononoooooooooooo_

_And finally, a very clear image of the little boy, covered with shards of broken glass, his little body bloody and lifeless._

The kid is up again, pointing out the window. "LOOK!"

Suddenly, Sam knows what to do.

* * *

No one looked at the little boy, the diner's guests and employees now used to kid's excitement over the storm but there are a few mumbled comments when the lightning and thunder flash and roll simultaneously.

With a speed that had been drilled into him over the years, Sam jumped up out of their booth and sprinted as fast as he could. Outside, a loud CRACK was heard just before a tree limb was propelled through the window.

Someone screamed, a shrill cry that bounced off the walls and made his ears ring then a woman's voice whispered fearfully.

"Charlie? Charlie?"

Frozen with horror, everyone in the diner stared at the tree branch that had powered through the window, where the toddler had stood only moments before, and swiveled to Sam and the young toddler he sheltered with his body.

"He's okay. He's okay." Sam repeated softly, but hardly heard his own words; the pain in his head so sharp it eclipsed most other sound.

The next few minutes passed in a blur, Charlie whisked into his mother's arms and Sam became the object of everyone's attention, who exclaimed (loudly) with excitement over his quick reflexes.

The dimness of the interior of the restaurant caused by a power outage that must have happened during the crack of lightning did nothing to lessen the pain in his head. In an attempt to hold back a moan, Sam clenched his fist, a movement caught by his brother's sharp gaze and relayed in a shared look between his father and brother.

Brusquely, Dean moved the diners away while his father carelessly tossed money on their table and, in one coordinated effort, they propped Sam between them as they left.

Winchester's always know when it is time to go.

Back in the car, his headache still a painful throb and slumped in the backseat, Sam tried to concentrate enough to focus on the questions from the front seat.

"I don't know. I just had a bad feeling." Sam responded tiredly.

_I think I saw it happen...impossible. Right? Impossible._

Sam missed the look that passed between the other hunters, too grateful for the reprieve. His eyes closed, lying across the length the leather seat, Sam tuned out the quiet back and forth conversation between his father and brother.

"_I feel cold. I wish she..._" the thought remained unfinished as sleep claimed him and the pain dulled.

In Northern Nevada, Sam woke to find that he had slept through dinner, his headache was gone and his stomach rumbled loudly on the outskirts of the town. Sam realized he was ravenous.

They pulled into a motel parking lot with a Denny's across the street, and, as his father booked the room, they each grabbed a duffel. This would be just a quick layover, only essentials were needed and everything else remained in the vehicles.

First rights to the shower (and the majority of the hot water) were claimed by an unapologetic Dean, who had brushed by Sam in the race to get to the bathroom first.

"Jerk," Sam muttered purely on principal since his words lacked any heat.

"Bitch." Dean fired back over his shoulder with a roguish smirk.

Sam's lips twitched at the exchange and Dean grinned at the first sign since Sunnydale that his brother acknowledged his presence.

As soon as the door closed, Sam's faint good-humor vanished.

His bitterness and resentment weren't as bright and sharp as they were that morning, but they were still there.

"I know you are mad, Sam." His father paused, waiting to see if Sam was going to explode at him. When he remained quiet, his father continued. "Right or wrong -I just did what I thought was best."

He walked up behind Sam and put a hand on his shoulder.

In a flash, a forgotten memory surfaced and Sam remembered...

…_he was about three, maybe four years old. He had woken up in his bed, screaming and unable to remember what the dream was about. His father came running into the room and flipped on the light._

_"What happened? What's wrong Sammy?" John's eyes searched around the room. _

_He moved around the room, not waiting for an answer, checked the window to make sure it was secure and peered at the thick unbroken line of salt in front. He looked over at Sam and saw his panicked, tearful face. Immediately, he went to the bed and pulled Sam into a hug. Sobs shook his small frame, he trembled with fear and words tumbled out incoherently. _

_Dean came into the room. They were staying at someone's house and Sam had never slept alone before. Rubbing his eyes, Dean climbed on Sam's bed._

_"I'm here, Sammy." Dean told him. He pulled Sam back down on the bed and Sam began to calm down. His father stood up and went to shut off the light. He stepped out of the room -_

_-only to have Sam fly towards him. Sam wrapped his arms around his dad's legs, pleading with him to stay, stay, please daddy, no no no._

_It took an hour to calm Sam down. _

_The youngest Winchester was so distressed, John had to pick him up and carry him downstairs with him as he made a call to his friend. He told them he couldn't go on the hunt with them after all, his son needed him._

_As he heard the words, Sam wrapped his arms around his father in relief. His father carried him back up the stairs and put him back on the bed, Dean on one side of Sam, and he on the other. _

_Sam whimpered and rubbed his head. _

_"Hurts." he whispered. Then his little body shivered and he snuggled into his father's arms. "Cold." he whispered again._

_John toed off his boots and pulled the blanket over the three of them. Sam locked his arms around his father's body and fell into a deep sleep. His son's hands and arms felt like ice._

_Sam didn't know that for hours, John lay awake. Just before dawn he dozed, eyes always open at the smallest sound. _

_Sam never knew that the next day, John heard that two of hunter friends had died in an explosion. It could have been him, if he had gone along._

Sam knew his father always placed their safety first. He might go away for a few days, but he drilled safety and common sense into his boys. When they were younger, they were left in the care of friends or people who he had saved or owed him favors if John had to go away. When he felt he was old enough, Dean begged for John to let them stay by themselves.

"I am too old for a babysitter! I can take care of Sammy better than anyone." he had protested until John finally relented. Rules were established.

He would call twice a day, at five on the dot - no earlier, no later. They had better answer the phone. If he didn't call, they needed to call Bobby.

They could leave the motel, but only together. Sam could not walk to and from the motel alone.

Never take the same way to and from school. John always bought a map when they arrived. He tried to find the closest motel to the schools. He and Dean would look over the map and draw out various routes.

Trust no one.

Both boys knew how to handle guns. When John had free time, he would take them to somewhere to practice.

Always salt the room. Before Sam knew the truth about monsters and demons, he thought everyone salted their windows and doorways.

Their first night alone, Dean barely slept. He would wake up and check the windows and doors. He checked the shotgun. He wasn't anxious, but determined to prove to his father that he could be trusted. Sam slept as poorly as his brother, but pretended to sleep all the same. He didn't want Dean to think that Sam didn't trust him to keep them safe.

Sam felt his father's large, calloused hand on his shoulder. That hand had never been raised to him in anger. For a moment, he leaned toward his father. His father's words played again in Sam's mind.

_Right or wrong -I just did what I thought was best._

"I know." Sam said quietly. For a minute the pair stood still, Sam not seeing the relief that crossed his father's face or the sheen of moisture that his father rapidly blinked away.

Later, Dean came out of the shower and Sam walked in. He stripped down, stepped into the lukewarm spray of the shower and used the fragrance-free glycerin soap they always brought with them. When he was finished, he dried off and dressed in clean clothes then left the bathroom.

Only Dean remained, their father nowhere in sight.

Wordlessly, Dean stood up, fully dressed and car keys in hand.

"Going out to make some money, see you when I get back. Since you didn't eat, Dad thought you might be hungry so he left a twenty." Dean tilted his head at the top of the dresser and, as he passed by Sam, smacked his hand on the back of the head as he walked by.

"Jerk." Sam muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

"Pussy." His brother snarked as he opened the front door. Sam bit back a laugh.

He grabbed a room key, the money and looked around for his back pack, which was hanging in the closet. He opened the top, pulled out his disk man and searched the various drawers in the motel room looking for stationary until found a few pages in the desk, next to a bible. Sam headed out the door and across the street to Denny's.

The hostess showed him to a table, took his drink order and informed him that his server would be right with him. While he waited, he stared at the paper on the table and thought of what he wanted to write.

The waitress, a titian haired matron with large hoop earrings and penciled eyebrows, brought him coffee. When he rattled off his order without even opening a menu, she asked when the other members of his party would be joining them and raised an eyebrow when he said he would be dining alone.

"Okay Sugar, so you want a large grilled chicken salad with ranch dressing, the grand slam breakfast with extra sausage AND two slices of pie?"

Sam nodded.

"Oh - can I have the pie to go?" he asked.

She nodded and walked away. Sam put his headphones on and looked at the blank piece of paper and thought about the diner.

_Where do I begin?_ He wondered.

_Mr Giles,_

_How do you know the difference between intuition and prediction? Something happened today..._

The next morning, he dropped the letter into the mailbox.

Over the next two weeks, he settled back into the familiar routine of assisting his father and brother with research for jobs. He would go to libraries and do research as they traveled north east – toward North Dakota and Bobby Singer. The day he saw the familiar sign "Singer Salvage" Sam felt mixed feelings as he carried their duffel bags out of the car and into the foyer, afraid to ask Bobby if he had any mail.

After passing by Bobby a few times, Sam realized that nothing had arrived.

_Did you really think they would write to you? _

Once the unloading was completed, Dean and his father drove the car into Bobby's large detached garage to give it a servicing.

When Bobby offered to help him carry the bags upstairs, Sam gave a half-hearted smile of thanks. With the largest bag remaining in the foyer (clothes that needed to be cleaned), he and Bobby carried the remaining bags up the stairs.

The house had four bedrooms, so whenever they stayed at Bobby's, they each had their own rooms. First they dropped two bags into his dad's room. Next, two bags for Dean. Sam carried his own remaining bags, slightly surprised when Bobby followed him.

He opened the door to the room -

"Stuff started arriving over a week ago, all from the same place. Sunnydale, California." Bobby spoke quietly. "Guess you made some good friends there?"

Shocked, Sam nodded. He had hoped for a post card, maybe two. He wasn't prepared for …_this_.

Bobby put a hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze. He turned to leave.

"Wait." Sam said. He said the next words carefully, "Bobby, can you- I don't want- I just ..." he stopped.

"You don't want me to tell Dean and your Dad?" Bobby guessed.

"Is that bad?" Sam asked. "That I just want something that is all mine?"

"It is what it is." Bobby said with a shrug. "I won't say anything, if you don't want."

Sam closed the door and looked at his bed. He touched the first item. It was a box, just a little larger than a shoe box. He picked it up and felt its solid weight. He looked at the return address and smiled.

Books, he guessed, from Giles.

Two envelopes from Oz.

From Xander, a slim manila envelope and two post cards.

Two postcards and an envelope from Willow.

Ten (TEN!) post cards and three envelopes from Buffy.

And another box, from a J. Summers. Buffy's mom. Stunned, Sam's fingers lightly traced the handwriting in the top left corner of the box. _Buffy's mom had sent him a box too!_

Sam sank down on to the bed, a small smile on his face which stretched to a full out grin when he looked at the pile of mail beside him.

Then he began with Oz's stack and worked his way down the assortment of mail, saving Buffy's (the best) for last.

* * *

~Stay tuned.

**A/N:** Awww! Sammy's friends wrote back!

Thank you Wikipedia. Aiding and abetting the criminals of today and tomorrow since 2001.


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